I Like To Dissect Girls. Did You

I Have All The Characteristics Of A Human Being: Blood, Flesh, Skin, Hair; But Not A Single, Clear, Identifiable Emotion, Except For Greed And Disgust. Something Horrible Is Happening Inside Of Me And I Don't Know Why. My Nightly Bloodlust Has Overflown Into My Days. I Feel Lethal, On The Verge Of Frenzy. I Think My Mask Of Sanity Is About To Slip.

Regardless Of The Business Aspect Of Things, Is There A Reason That There Isn't A Female Hitchcock Or A Female Scorsese Or A Female Spielberg? I Don't Know. I Think It's A Medium That Really Is Built For The Male Gaze And For A Male Sensibility.

I Like To Dissect Girls. Did You Know I'm Utterly Insane?

I Stare Into A Thin, Web-like Crack Above The Urinal's Handle And Think To Myself That If I Were To Disappear Into That Crack, Say Somehow Miniaturize And Slip Into It, The Odds Are Good That No One Would Notice I Was Gone. No... One... Would... Care. In Fact Some, If They Noticed My Absence, Might Feel An Odd, Indefinable Sense Of Relief. This Is True: The World Is Better Off With Some People Gone. Our Lives Are Not All Interconnected. That Theory Is Crock. Some People Truly Do Not Need To Be Here.

Women Aren't Very Bright," Rip Says. "studies Have Been Done.