You Know You're Mindfucked When...

...with truth and context held at bay, you play together with the desperate carelessness of the damned. You are a man in your element and she is the perfect aphrodisiac. For that stolen slice of time, you allow yourselves to be as the Immortals were, masters of your universe and savouring every minute. It's now that mindfuck begins.

...she becomes a splinter embedded in the rabbit-hole of your altered consciousness. You reminisce. You daydream. You wonder. It irritates you. She has infiltrated your subconscious. It scares you. And you're glad.

The thing is, I - of all people - should know better and believe me, I smell the deja vu in this situation, as do you. You'd think that age and experience would keep me from making the same mistakes. But alas, it contends with the sheer obstinacy of the human temperament and I must be biologically hard-wired to behave in the same impulsive, foolhardy way that I have since birth.

In popular culture, the way a mindfuck ends is that it usually destroys the host. And up to that point, things are just suspended in an unpredictable tangle of red herrings and ambiguity. And so I predict it will be with this particular mindfuck. It is thrilling, stimulating, exhausting and goes against every fibre of rational thought.

Do I think it will end in disaster? Yes. Do I think I will end up hurt by all this? Yes. Do I go along with it anyway? Of course. And thus I wait patiently, alongside you, like any other obedient mindfuck victim for the plot to unfold.