...on the contrary.

[italiceyeball]

I promise I'd dispense with melodrama if there were anything else, dear reader, but without soaking observations in some carnal marinade (no matter how arid, to certain noses, how exhausting, to you asthetes and connoisseurs burdened with an overabundance of awareness, you know who you are!) veering a bit to the precious, overcompensating, vulgarity of self hatred- and yes, carnal! If self mortification doesn't get you wet, at least existentially, then you're an alien, a time traveler, or, or, so supremely self absorbed that you transcend all this (or pretend to, or convince yourself, or try not to think, or wallow in trying, or wallow in wallowing, or cry yourself to sleep, or cut furrows in your thigh, or nurse a garden of grudges, or any number of stimulating escapes, whirlwind thought loops, ever the acrobat and tumbler, ever the mime and the invisible wall) and we none of us believe that, though, to be sure, our lack of belief would never lessen our affections...