I guess that’s how this thing goes. It breaks significant rules and crosses all existing boundaries. Everything is manipulated: it is pugnacious on the clever and subtle ones, and since history it’s been known to prey on seemingly indestructible fortresses. It crumbles in and makes its way through your bloodshot eyes and feeble set of vessels and stimulates you to rip your innards out. It dishevels hackneyed ideas and leaves out the faint ens of a grey static, sending out a stinging sensation that is shrouded in obscurity. And amusing it is that you will more likely come to a point in which you feel nothing more grievous than the feeling of adhering oneself to a fine strand of barbed wire whilst being dramatically suspended high off the ground.

How barbaric, my love. You do what you usually do for a living—engulfing your usual sadistic self—whilst I, as usual, take part in this stupid little game as a masochistic airhead.