I tell him that I am not mad, only insane. The mad are consciously guilty, the insane innocent. His silence speaks of a mutual agreement on this state of mind.
A few newly accomplished facts:
2 million psychopaths live alone in North America and if you thought Patrick Bateman is an exception, in New York an estimated 100,000 psychopaths in the city prove otherwise.
I finished the book about the educated whores last night. With the implications only visible in dreams. Then I say I read about this not as justification but to find out what others fear in us. But I knew it’s like telling a child the first man on the moon was American and not Russian. They always know the truth even though distance has no relevancy.
Still somehow it never occurred to me that others need protection, after all it’s ever so easy seeing through darkness. Intelligence heals everything.
All depends to whom I confess… here and there I twist it into a justification why I am exactly what you need.
Ever felt like Van Helsing chasing for psychopaths. A Constable sky forebodes such kind of message (besides that I feel pretty cool in my leather jacket) thinking of how I got stuck in the thickest snow with my grandmother and my brother once, still I cannot recall if it was a dream or it actually happened. Someone keeps using this huge paint brush to make the line fade.