Does a man become when he faces himself? Stares his faults in their beady eyes? Incorrigibly persistent faults. Do I hate my being? The treachery I cast upon myself and the world? What putrid devilry is this? Foul beast. Lower than the carrion. Why do I loathe myself? I seek a brighter day but it is from this dirt I must crawl up. Scavenger of ideas. Wretched creature. Why? Why?! Stop it! Stop it now! I am better than this! What devilry cast these ideas upon my head? What compels me to write these words? Who? Speak! Speak now! I demand you speak!!
