You can dismiss the “Kristen Stewart apparently cheated on Rob Pattinson with Snow White and the Huntsman director Rupert Sanders” story all you want, and I won’t argue with you. There are few things in this world more powerfully disgusting than the tabloid gossip industry. What a constant ordeal it must be to not have the freedom to make mistakes and/or fuck things up in a private (or at least a semi-private) way.

I’ve had that freedom all my life and I know one thing, and that’s if you’re going to play around on the side you have to follow Moscow Rules. You have to become a CIA double-agent in East Germany in the early ’60s. Cheating should never be embarked upon with the idea that you’re probably going to get caught…unless, of course, you’re cheating with that precise idea in mind. Women do this. I’ve seen it first-hand. They feel suffocated and their subconscious is screaming and so they secretly want to get busted so something will change. Or at the very least so they’ll be “heard.”

I’ve been “the other guy” in two long-term cheating relationships — one with a fellow journalist who was married, another with a woman who was living with a guy — and both times les femme infideles handled themselves like Kim Philby, and I’m saying that with respect. You can’t be a casual cheater. You really, really have to watch your back and cover your tracks. You have to be brilliant.

How could Stewart have met up with Sanders without knowing deep down that she stood an excellent chance of being busted by the paparazzi? That’s what I think is fascinating here. This isn’t just a messy emotional drama, but one containing a metaphor about the hungry, sometimes unruly heart. It’s about how unfulfilled, frustrated artists (however gifted or un-gifted they may actually be) are like kindling ready to ignite at the drop of a hat. It’s about how some people can’t cope with those vague feelings of imprisonment that simmer beneath almost all healthy relationships. And it’s obviously about Stewart (and cheers to her for this) expressing a flash of intense anger and/or revulsion for the Twilight franchise. She got a taste of what being in a real movie was like when she took a supporting role in Walter Salles‘ On The Road and then she looked at her own creations and said “what the fuck am I doing?” and started to go crazy.

Maybe she realized b.f. Rob Pattinson has nowhere to go but down after seeing him in David Cronenberg‘s Cosmopolis. It’s possible she said to herself as she sat in that screening room and said, “I love Rob but he’s going to need more and more support as things gradually start to collapse for him over the years, and I don’t want to be Esther Blodgett/Vicki Lester…I want to be Isadora Duncan!”

I don’t believe her apology statement, which her publicist sent to People today. Okay, she probably is feeling “sorry,” but who wouldn’t be after they’ve been totally busted? It’s what you say or do on your own before you’ve been caught that counts. I think she was pushed into apologizing by her handlers. She shouldn’t have to say “I’m sorry” to anyone except RPatz.

A couple of months ago Stewart told Elle‘s Holly Millea that “you can learn so much from bad things. I feel boring. I feel like, Why is everything so easy for me? I can’t wait for something crazy to fucking happen to me. Just life. I want someone to fuck me over! Do you know what I mean?”

Fuck the Twihards and their dipshit fantasies. Grow up, little girls. The world is a much richer and stranger place than you have so far imagined in your philosophies.

So laugh or sneer all you want, but Tom Stoppard (The Real Thing) or the late Harold Pinter (Betrayal) could take this