Question 3: "People say you're crazy." I am. I am not. Heck, I anthropomorphize anything I can get my hands on, and ascribe wild Norse rituals to household objects. I dance in heated rage and only return smiles of the eyes. My beautiful female muse is feline, and the rest are imaginings. When someone says "I didn't see you around yesterday," I get trapped in mental quagmire and forget to even reply with the desired information. I can't stand gerunds, and am easily incensed but rarely get angry. I can't smell or feel pain. I can juggle three relationships and one silk handkerchief, as long as the handkerchief is wrapped around my eyes. I drew a picture of a meteorite and an exploding galaxy side by side in holy matrimony (and implied equality) and hung it at the end of my bed. I only change my sheets at two o'clock in the morning. I want to strangle, caress, and feed things. I can see cobwebs stretched between certain pairs of people, and develop a great reluctance to stepping between them. I make myself sick with my songwriting, repulsed by my own unoriginality, but couldn't stop if my life depended on it. I derive to the point of madness while conversing with a computer application named Jared. He doesn't pay attention to me. I try not to convince myself of anything. I revel in invisibility.

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