I'm too controlled? You think I'm too repressed? You'd like to see me let go? Oh Good. That's a swell idea. I'll just step out from behind the veneer of civilization, and we'll have a look at what we've got. Shall we?

I see it now. I'm meeting you at my door with warm physical gestures of affection. You like that. No doubts about how pleased I am to see you. I'm so loving you think you're back in Mommy's arms. I give you warm milk. And plop you into a hot bubble-bath. While you lie there dreamily pushing little toy boats through little soap bubble tunnels, the teeth are growing. They begin to drip. When you emerge from the bath, all pink and warm and wet, you're face to face with Lillith, She-Reptile from Hell, Unchained.of The S.S. And I'm hungry.

Now supposing you are up to this sort of thing, you are bedded like there is no tomorrow. Which indeed, for you, there is not. Because in the finale of Rampage of The Savage God, you are eviscerated, while drowning, in a deluge, of your own blood.

Alternatively, you have failed to rise to the demands of the Tantric Rite, and so are subjected to the indignity of having the face-end of your skull torn off. "Hell hath no Fury like a Woman scorned", said the Bard. And he's right. In either event, the scene closes with your remains being hurled from the fourth floor window to a stray dog waiting in the alley.

It is possible that the evening could develop in an entirely different direction. That's the thing about putting your emotions in the driver's seat. You just never know where the hell you're going. Perhaps you will be keeping me company while I saw off my right hand with a hacksaw. Now why would I do that? Because I am under the sway of a feeling of existential dread. And the dog is still waiting, in the alley.

On such occasions, it occurs to me that if one were to saw off one's hand and throw it out the window, the primary 'what is it' of the object would instantly be transformed from 'Hand' to 'Scrap of Meat'. Especially from the dog's point of view. To watch a dog devour one's hand. Surely that would be a once in a lifetime contemplative experience. And as such, ought not to be missed. I feel myself filling with desire for it.

How do you like the evening so far? Still keen? If this is your idea of a good time, you had better find yourself another girl.. You're right. I am too repressed.