Part I: control
(Let go.)
You think I'm too controlled? You think I'm too repressed?
You want to see me let go, for once?
(Let go.)
Oh, good. That's a good idea. I'll just step out from behind the veneer of civilization.
Then we'll have a look at what I got.
I see it now: I'm meeting you at your door, with warm physical gestures of affection. You like that. No doubts about how pleased I am to see you. I'm so loving, it's like 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 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 Loki—the god of chaos. Unchained. And I'm hungry.
Part II: sex and violence (hunger)
Now, supposing you're 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 the rampage of a savage god, you are eviscerated while drowning in your own blood. Ultimately, you have failed to rise to the demands of the holy right, and so, are subjected of the indignity of having the face end of your skull torn off.
"Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn," said the barn. "Hell hath no fury like a man devalued." And he's right.
In either event, the scene closes with your remains being hurled out of a fourth floor window to stray dog waiting in the alley.
(Let go.)
(Dog.)
(Waiting.)
Part III: dread
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 never know where the hell you're going. Perhaps you'll be keeping me company while I saw off your right hand with a hack saw. Now why would I do that?
Because I'm under the feeling of existential dread.
And the dog is still waiting in the alley.
On such occasion, it occurs to me that if one were to saw off one's right hand and throw it out the window, the primary what is it? of the object would be instantly transformed to hand to scrap of meat—especially from the dog's point of few.
To watch a dog devour one's hand...
Surely that would be a once in a lifetime experience. And as such, is ought not to be missed! I feel myself filling with desire for it.
Epilogue:
How do you like the evening so far? Still keen? If this is your idea of a good time, you better find yourself a shrink.
You're right.
I am too repressed.