I am so tempted, on a night like this, to say something controversial like "Sometimes, I just don't understand love."

It's a quote which may have come from some famous 1940 movie, that people are still talking about even today, because they so disagree with it, because they are so charmed by it, because those with the stone hearts are vindicated by it and those with the hearts of velvet are so offended by it, that they consign the said hero involved to the dustbin of their pity.

Could I be less subtle? No. If I were to romanticise it I would be born in the shadows, blind even, like the cobra. And whatever plans the charmer has for me, or how my every movement is cued, is a secret which vanishes in the cavernous minds of ancient Indian ascetics as they are slaughtered one by one by the heavy hand of death. And soon they will have no sons to pass it too, for they have long forgotten the joys of parenthood, and will weep for lack of descendants to pass their ancient skill to.

I'm tempted not to care, knowing you could survive without it. In fact, you'd probably survive in spite of it. Ooooh magic & secrets, magic & secrets. I will draw your hand for you.

Hate, annoyance, spite. Do I have the ability to make you close this page right now. Be irritatingly fascinated by it, because you detest me? My paranoia has 4 walls, and they are closing in on me. There is a hidden lever in the side of the room, which, if you pull, will offer you an escape hatch that will plunge you out of this room and into the next level. The easier way, of course, would be to rearrange the bricks with your head.

You know of course, that all this is possible, that its mental tricks that will stop you from the evil one who would love to make you all insane. That said, it's not really that different from the sanitorium.

Like Fiona Apple reminds me of Delirium. Maybe she isn't. Maybe someone would smoke herself to death and happy herself to death and jump jump jump away to her death. I am a rubbishy person. My parents always taught me to study hard or I would be a rubbish collector. Rubbish collectors are icky people doing a noble job which no one else does. It's like when I have chewing gum on my hand. eww. but when I'm in the jungle I don't mind mud on me. Just that I'm in my house now and I'm nice and clean and I don't want to have chewing gum on my hand. Ban chewing gum. I like chewing gum.