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It's not that I hate you, but that you are antagonised by me, which makes me feel defensive, this creates a negative feedback loop. 

When I hear my heart beating in my chest, I associate that with the pain of a heart attack, or a razor blade slicing, because I smoke cigarettes, which anti smoking commercials, on free to air television, has trained my mind to expect. 

The quirky context is that, while I was developing this imagery, as I was experiencing puberty, twenty five years ago, I was witnessing Kung Lao, of Mortal Kombat 2, perform his hat slice fatality, on the sega genesis. Not to mention the messed up Urotsukidōji: Legend of the demon womb's language games, which was done by design by the creators. I also used a lot of ampthetimines throughout my youth. 

I think of my brain inside my head, and I associate that with pain, and panic, from traumatic psychotic episodes I have endured in the past. I look at beings, and I see them at a quantum scale. I have been initiated.

I have five senses. Sight, sound, touch, taste, and smell. All these are how my brain makes sense of things at a quantum scale. 

My universe is only what I've been told by algorithms, etc. I don't know if there is a moon at all, as I haven't seen it with my eyes, to "know" that it exists; I haven't perceived it with my earthly ability, and even then, I don't know the context. My impression still comprises computer-generated visuals, shown to me by documentaries, or other noise the algorithms have shown me throughout my life.

I'm like a spiders abdomen, deflating, as it "farts"out of its sack. At least, that's the kind of thing I'd spend all my time drawing, in my youth

I grew up wearing smelly clothes, looking like Kurt Cobain, in highschool, and pissing myself every night, because of medications, the nights before mental health authorities had me incarcerated. 

I am an outcast by choice. This is beyond a psychiatric disorder.

Conformity, or consequences.

I disagree with anti smoking campaigns. This is my body. It belongs to me to do with what I wish, and I enjoy my ciggarettes.

I'm the one who suffers any pain that happens to it, so, I can be assured that my body is mine. 

I also disagree with the consequencial dynamics at play if, and when I get that terminal illness diagnosis, for my smoking out of spite for a set of dynamics presented to me by mother nature, that I must adhere to, or else. I must meet a requirement at all times, or I can be an outcast. I choose to be an outcast. 

So many people have suffered an unjust lot in life, then succumbed to the dying process, often in a psychological dungeon, that is, the hospital, on their deathbed. This is very disempowering, and it's only a matter of time before mother nature herself, reeps some consequence for creating life, just to make it suffer all that pain.