(And in the spring I shed my skin and it blows away with the changing winds, the waters turn from blue to red as towards the sky I offer it.)

Never mind learning about me. You should be learning about life. Life is dull and as useless as a blank canvas without a smattering of irony and a dash of cynicism. A sprinkling of witticisms, a splatter of black - jokes not everyone will understand. The business of being an intellectual is a hard one, so choose carefully before you take it upon yourself to join their ranks. Be content with your blank canvas for as long as you can stand it, but if you decide to be one of them, you'd better make sure you have the right paint, because if you don't, those intellectuals will become critics. They will attack your canvas with the ferocity of a shark, and will not rest until your canvas is ripped into little, unrecognisable shreds.

The world is just one, giant metaphor that everyone is trying to unravel. How you go about this differs from person to person. I write stories. That's about all you need to know.

(I must become a lion-hearted girl, ready for a fight, before I make the final sacrifice.)

Vague enough?