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Grant me the confidence of a man who can go to a sex club with a spotty arse.
I feel quite often that it’s good not to know what goes on in the male mind. If we did, I suspect we would spend a lot of our lives in fearful despair.
scaffold
bobble hats.
but he was also an educated white man, so the bar for genius isn’t set impossibly high here.
Men who turn their lights full beam on you for a few seconds and leave you chasing that artificial warmth for the rest of your life. It wrecks you and doesn’t leave a mark on them. But I learnt that early. Wilde never did. Perhaps then, he could have learnt something from me. Never yearn for the light that some men will shine on you for the briefest of moments. Snuff it out instead.
The motive ascribed to me was pathetic. The act I allegedly committed is one I’d have had to carry out in a fit of rage, with a lack of planning I’d have hated. I’m not Nico. But you can’t use that as a defence, can you? ‘Sorry, m’lud, but when I murder people, I do it with a little more precision, you see.’
Someone feeling smug for helping you is not the same as loving you.
modern life is 75 per cent cancelling plans and both parties feeling relieved
Life is so short, and we spend so much of it talking to terrible people about the minutiae of their nothing lives.
Christ, what is wrong with women that they demand so little? ‘Not your father’ seemed like a low fucking bar.
