My head is so soft, so very very soft. I think, maybe softer than other people's heads. When you push on it, it changes shape, like the yolk of an egg so soft. It's soft like a princess's head and thats why they kept me in a tower. It's soft like Don Quixote's that's why She burned my library. Well, She didn't yet, but I can burn it in Her name. I'm chivalrous like that. I love Her so much. This blog was brought to you by Bombay Sapphire, at least tonight. She's so beautiful. I don't know if you got that part. I love Her with all my heart. All that I can muster, I muster for Her. I sing to the trees and think of Her, and She tells me that She has people singing for Her in real life, isn't that special? Isn't that beautiful? She says She had no idea how soft my head was but now today She must know. My head is squishy, it deserves all compression that comes to it. Mold me, shape me, turn me into your ideal or whatever I said before because this head sure is soft. It takes to ideas like wildfire. It takes to ideas like there's nothing else in life to take to. It's so philosophical, and yet, when She says something like "you get to into the media you consume" I freeze, and I think of good media, media with good messages, because why would She lie to me? I replay those memories over and over. One day I will be pure. I am after all, Assigned Dracula At Birth. I can overcome anything.