I began smoking in college, in 1982, because I thought intellectuals smoked. Look at Jackson Pollock--that ubiquitous fag dangling from his bottom lip. His "No. 5, 1948" sold for $151 million and it was just a bunch of paint dribbles. If smoking was stupid, I wanted to be stupid like Jackson Pollock. Stupid like Georgia O'Keefe, Eugene O'Neill, Edith Wharton... the Greenwich Village crowd. The reds, the anarchists, the social reformers. I wanted to identify with them. Read on...
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