When asking myself a question, instead of

When asking myself a question, instead of picking pedals off a flower, I take one of the pedals and tear it until it can't be torn anymore. Each time in half and by the end of it

I feel disgusting. I look in the mirror and say, "What kind of narcissistic monster rips apart flowers as part of some sick ritual to establish whether one is loved or not."

In truth, no one is loved. Narcissism is a lie we tell. It's hard to explain, but dishonesty is the only truth in our world. Take flowers for instance. They grow out of dirt.

Now the flowers are Useless Hope and the dirt is Unmitigated Misery. We pick flowers, ie. Strangle Nascent Being. Then put them in a vase. The vase is Bounded Desire. The water is

dirty. Like usual the cat had defecated into it. There is a certain pleasure to be experienced with water, when one has only ever carried out one's needs on sand. Bombs away, said

the pretty little hedgehog. Splash! The water slapped against the rocks as he completed his first dive into the river. Do hedgehogs know how to swim? Feeling free from the

constraints of land, the hedgehog drowned. Rotting and fish-bitten, his corpse beached and was torn apart by wolves recently introduced to the wild. One wolf died from indigestion.

The wolf and his family were raised in a wolf house and were five star feral chefs at the local pizzeria. They served a full house every night and were visited by my family.

The bRim imack and his harems were from a different universe and were still getting used to the one sun one moon setup we have here besides other things they don't like which is

too bad for them, 'cos they're stuck here, now. We Earthians have only one nose, one butthole, one brain, you know why? 'Cos we don't need no spare parts! We're quality work. Word.