The behavioural equivalent of illumination is love. Or, to be more precise, those three little words. It’s the illusion that they love you just the way you are. That’s when you open up to them. Show them all you have and give in to them. He’s your paparazzi. He loves your image. Do you care enough to live up to it? How long? Shoot me. Hunt me down. Let me bask in the brightness before I recede into the shadows forever. With every flash of the camera, I love you.
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The theatre of life plays out in front, at the back and in the wings, meretriciously guilded to perfection. You may call it Ergonomics.The Peeping Tom in me says this Freakonomics is light years better than The Dark Knight infested DC Comics. Welcome aboard Sale-brities. What the fish, if Sting had sung Fragile
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