Funny. Funny, when I have a brain to tickle. When the joy in you awakens mine that hibernates like a bear in perpetual winter otherwise. Without you I am all work. Relentless. A machine that will go on until the grease dries up and my gears fuse.

Truthful. Truth is an affliction. It sets you free but not me. It gets me flogged and burnt at the stake. To reveal the rot is a crime against society. I am Eve in the garden with bruised fruit-flesh caught in my half-smile, half-grimace, as we all fall.