If You Don't Know Who You Are,

My Radar, After All These Years Of Sanity, Is Still Off When It Comes To What People Do Or Don't Mean.

I Wouldn't Say That My Emotions Are Extreme. I'd Say They Are Committed. My Moods Are The Equivalent Of Madonna's Dancing: Inappropriate But All-out. If I'm Going To Be Sad, I Might As Well Be The Saddest A Girl Can Get. And If I'm Happy, I Want To Be The Happiest. The Trouble Is, I Feel Highs So Ecstatic That Just Being Normal Feels Like A Thousand-mile Drop And Being Unhappy Is Excruciating.

I Envied Women With Signature Hair-dos, Signature Perfumes, Signature Sign-offs. Novelists Who Tell Vogue Magazine: “i Can’t Live Without My Smythson Notebook, Pomegranate Noir Cologne By Jo Malone And Frette Sheets”. In The Grip Of Madness, Materialism Begins To Look Like An Admirable Belief System.

I Do Think Everything That Happens In American Pop Culture Sort Of Prescribes For England And Does End Up Happening There Six Months Later, Maybe A Year.

We Intersect. He Says He Thanks Every Star That We Existed On The Same Celestial Plain. But Here We Are On Earth, Dirty, Well Used, A Man-made Throughway For Intersecting Dreams.