I am but a walking oxymoron: a dyslexic writer with an affinity for irony. I'm headed for the cryptic cliff that dangles before me. It taunts with its sinister grin and false prophecies. A tightrope stretches beneath my feet, between this cliff and that, taut in its demeanor, protecting against my dislocated equilibrium. My armour is thick, and my tactics shrewd. Tease me with flattery and I shall close my ears. Cut me with sharp promises and I shall lick my wounds. But tempt me with truth and I shall bow before you.