Crazy girl likes to over share. She tells everyone her problems in intimate detail because she is so amused by herself and wants you to be too.
She thinks she can read people but crazy girl cannot even read herself.
Crazy girl shares her secrets because nothing is precious to her, not even herself.
She does not know the extent to which people can influence her.
Crazy girl is infatuated by his gaze and the way he shivers when he sleeps.
She concludes that he adores her because Crazy girl had never met anyone who has fallen in love with himself.
Crazy girl cannot understand why someone would want to be bitter towards her.
We are all fucked up children of this earth, descended from one war or another.
Some are taught to keep their feelings to themselves, when they are upset.
Others are taught to be Crazy, even if it upsets them.
Anything can set off Crazy girl.
Even a whiff of a frying egg can make her want to gag.
Anything moist, crusty, rich, odorous, overly sweet, hot, textured, complex, different
identity, collaged, otherworldly.
The staler the food the more she gravitates towards it.
It means she only has to eat a few bites of it.
Never hungry and hyper aware.
The food stepped up to the plate, casted in new roles.
They staged lavish tragedies and some random experimental stuff.
Knives flew; fruits blossomed for hot-tempered steaks claimed by a group of herbs dressed in savory.
After every closing scene the stagehands would come and clear it all away, mostly ants volunteer.
Once in a while you will see a maggot or a grasshopper.
They want crazy girl to see.
They want Crazy to truly empathize, and in the process, acquire the wisdom to get over herself.
Save herself.