Yes, it’s true. I can feel it rising inside me and breaking through me. I feel bewildered at such a coincidence of internal violence tearing and spanking through my upper self on the utterly crooked manner of myself. It is killing me, that obnoxious desire to break and to damage, and to fight and to plunder, with all that guns and all that bombs, and all the pretty murdering tools I find. I shall kiss them and cover them with flowers if they can remove this terribly insane itching inside me. Cause my diary and my pen isn’t being very supportive.
I would like to see before my eyes, bloodshed and the power of violence.
I would like to crack with my own hands at like 100 window panes.
I want to blunt a 100 razors, I want to fetch a thousand knives.
So I can satisfy myself without much damage to you all.