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True love

It’s not true love until you approach a woman from behind in the kitchen, pin her arms to her sides, and put a knife to her throat—I think a short serrated blade from the kitchen drawer would be sufficient. Then you must say, “If these games continue, bitch, I will slit your throat, wipe the blood from the floor, and bury your bones under the kitchen.”

Most will not do so. Instead, you will go to Starbucks and order a Grande latte—the most foam-based drink (“hand-crafted”)—and say, “It didn’t work out, I guess. These things happen. It’s time to move on.” I can tell you what’s hand-crafted—a knife in the kitchen drawer.

Look, love and hate are the same thing—just like life and death are the same thing (people don’t like it when you say that, it spoils their game that everything is so terrible). This is why it is always dangerous to express love for someone—it means you hate them; and then they will revenge themselves upon you.

Most people do not have love or hate—they have a Starbucks Grande latte. It’s okay. It’s optimum, from an economic perspective—it’s a world-class brand. I can’t say I hate it, there’s not enough substance to it for me to hate it—so those anarchists who throw bricks through a Starbucks window are contrived. I can’t say I love it either—it’s not bitter enough to love.

You will never “move on”. That is a catch-phrase from the “they” world. People change their opinions, their beliefs, their fashions, and their hair colour—people do not change. The pupil does not change—there’s a sphere inside that never changes. That’s why, if you’re going to be a true detective, you better find the knife in the drawer.


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