Madness is completely relative.
After all, insanity is all in one's perspective, right? Like his, for example. He's a loony, but he doesn't think so. Nothing hurts him, right? He doesn't feel pain. So it's not as if his "insanity" matters. But we know better, we know he's a nut, completely out of his fucking mind.
Am I out of my mind now? I hear them babbling, in my head, like some sort of sick nightmare that I can't fucking wake up from. They keep talking, monotonous, repetitive, constant. It's like a god-damned radio tuned into every station at the same time. It's just pointless after a while.
Farf is going on about killing God. You'd think he'd have another thought in his head, and he does. He thinks about pretty things, about blood, about his blades. Damn things. I wish Crawford wouldn't let him have them, but apparently it keeps him calm. Fucking Irishman.
Nagi thinks about hacking. And girls. Occasionally he'll think about other boys, too. He's really a teenager, always ready to fuck. The kid has a more sordid mind than I do, which I didn't think possible. Spending time around the house with him around is a bitch. He spends too much time hacking into porn sites, which is weird, cause the kid isn't ugly or anything. If he really wanted to, he could get laid.
Crawford is silent.
It's funny. I'm not sure if he's silent because he can block me, or because of his foresight, or maybe, it's because he actually doesn't think of anything.
But once I saw into his mind. It was like the world had turned on its head, turned upside down and inside out and everything was explosive, angry bursts of color and sound. There were so many images, so many different perceptions, so many futures.
Could it be possible that he's mad? It is, after all, his perception.
I don't know. I just know that his silence keeps me sane.