my child, there is something profoundly wrong with your logic. 

or should i say, with the lack of logic you possess. 

i have made a peace, Joanna. i promise to you that i have made my peace.

oh, where do i start? should i take you to Sid Vicious' deathbed, where misery and self destruction was portrayed as a romantic triumph? or to Giovanni's room, where lust and conventional morality collide over a simple dinner on a Tuesday night? or to the very altar of Heraion, where what you were born for and what you ended up possess betrayed each other in the name of a 'ground-breaking storyline'. well darling, it's just an intricate play of words. if you know me, you'll know half of it doesn't make any sense.