I was born 6 years ago when I stepped down from the spaceship I made out of smoke and mirrors. I like reality, but old habits never really die and I’m molding this one (into a world of invisible curfews and incredulous ambition and unlimited kisses) like life’s a lucid dream and I can think anything into existence. Yes and no are my greatest powers – and it feels like I always get what I want, now that I know what I want.
And I want. I want words. I want you to tell me every story in your head that you think is worth a damn. I want to discuss the measurable value of one damn. I want to discuss titillations and tribulations; your reservations with this decade, your gender politics, the meaning of sex, art’s intersection with science, your relationship with serotonin and oxytocin and norepinephrine.
I’m sane in an insane world. I’m in touch with my desires and goals. I’m in touch with my demons and weaknesses. I actually like myself. I actually like people. (I’m not sure which I like better.)