Friday, 6 July 2012

I am my enemy. I strive not against myself, nor is this a spiritual destruction of my 'old man'. My old man is fine, thanks for asking. I have actually become the man I hate. To stare one moment in the face of love and say, 'This is what I will be—for you, for always; that will I be never'; and that lowest of days to follow in utter darkness, when 'that' becomes me; words lie helpless in the face of meeting the challenge of description toward it. Can there be in all of life any moment more imbued with self-loathing?

Failure.