You Can Have This Kind Of Love.

When I Was Younger I Loved Betty Blue, And At The Moment I'm Completely Besotted With Angelina Jolie. But Sometimes I'm Unnerved By The Idea Of Men Liking Her. Because I Think That There Is A Side To Every Man That Really Wants To Watch A Woman Fall Apart.

Now That He's Gone, I Feel Like I'm A Senior Citizen Who Gave Away Her Life Savings Over The Phone. And This Is The Crux: I Never In My Life Believed In Someone As Much As I Believed In Him. The Shame Is Overwhelming.

My Thoughts Are Messy, My Emotions Are Messy, My Body Goes In And Out At Will. The Raised White Scars On My Arms And Legs Are The Only Aspect Of My Being That Comes Close To Minimalism. They Came From Chaos, But It Is Hard To Carve Frustration And Unease Into The Flesh. Only Straight Lines.

It Is Madness. And If You Don't Know Who You Are, Or If Your Real Self Has Drifted Away From You With The Undertow, Madness At Least Gives You An Identity. It's The Same With Self-loathing. You're Probably Just Normal And Normal-looking But That's Not A Real Identity, Not The Way Ugliness Is. Normality, Just Accepting That You're Probably Normal-looking, Lacks The Force Field Of Self-disgust. If You Don't Know Who You Are, Madness Gives You Something To Believe In.

From Such A Young Age, I Was Raised And Have Raised Myself On Film To Such An Extent, That It Has Sometimes Bled Into My Reality. There Are Times I've Felt Very Mulholland Drive, Where People's Dream Worlds Overlap With Each Other.