I actually assumed you WERE Gackto. But if you're not, that serves to quiet the above-mentioned "still small voice of conscience" a little, since a correspondence with you is consequently not going to be the unmerited quantum leap into Stephanie's inner circle that I hoped....uh sorry, I meant of course WORRIED AND FEARED that it would be.
Anything Lavagel-related, of course, that you would be so tactless and perverse as to be inclined to pass on - be it of a material or an immaterial nature (protocols of conversations on Skype; bottled samples of the air of rooms in which she is rumored to have lingered; rumors indeed of any sort, or even preposterous and slanderous fictions bearing on the romantic or any other aspect of her day-to-day existence) - would be clasped to my virtual bosom with a fervor likely to embarass even the battle-hardened Crackyist .
And yes, the e-mail address is real. It takes so much imaginative energy to compose this baroque nonsense that I fall back on the real "objets trouvés" of my existence whenever the consequences of doing so don't look like they'll be immediately physically endangering.