It's late, and I cannot sleep. My thoughts are haunting me, something's opened my Pandora's Box of bad shit, the stuff I try to keep locked up and can't. So I'm assuaged by thoughts about how useless, and ugly, and stupid I am. I pretty much have those all the time, of course, I guess we all do, it's just that I learnt to listen to mine, and to take them seriously, and it doesn't matter if I wrote a good review of a book I read for a friend, or got the cat's medicine. Those are mistakes, accidents... This fucked up, stupid man who can't look at himself in the mirror and hates having his photo taken is the real deal... the real side of me (why do you think I put a cartoon picture of Galactus up on here and not an actual photo of me?). Or at least that's what the thoughts tell me, and like a fool, I listen to them. Even though I know I'm just compounding my error, that's what I do... it's what I've always done, even though it mean...