A recent and ongoing allergic reaction can be easily explained as a justifiable response to some part of me withdrawing cigarettes from the bits and pieces that comprise the community that is me. It's a revolt, as insurgencies used to be called. Sadly the world just isn't ready for this sort of explanation, and insists upon hunting around for some kind of algebraic formula that describes the reaction as a relationship between my presence in the world and something else.
The possibility that I gave myself red blotchy itchiness as a result of a long
string of internal disagreements that came to boil when the visual cortex
registered a Smoke Free Zone sign apparently comes under the heading of
mumbo-jumbo. Meanwhile the revolt of body parts continues, and currently some
sense of agreement between parts is achieved by wandering though the pages of
the Urban Dictionary. A wonderland of depravity, erudition and learning. And I
have to say, never in my best dreams did I anticipate the complexity of the