Choleric, but not myopic.

Pretty soon, the black will darken the white. Starting from the edges, it will flare out quietly, eating at the whiteness slowly, till its fingers reach the centre and chew that out too.

Jupiter knows.

Sometimes, I wish I could take a gun to these foreheads. But I'm not sure whether I'll be content with them biting the bullet. I want them to swallow it, allow it to tear up their internals, and then finally watch the life drain out from these eyes. Damned SIs.

Fyodor, Raskolnikov just threw up.

C'mon, don't be dishonest.

The day that I share this blog with anyone else is the day I I know I have thrown away my cynical garb. Because, it is only within the purview of another person that I will find my circle of trust, even though that is geometrically wrong. Euclid would have boiled me in oil. I will have to remember that.