The inevitability that I will do the same again, condemned to repeat myself over and over to an audience long tired of listening; worse than tired, retching in great reeking pools of bile and vomit at the sickness bubbling out of me and hence made flesh. But of course, all this would be banished if I only *tried harder*. I can tell myself lies all day, a fantastic party trick with which I will transform friends into enemies and enemies into a wolf waiting on the sidelines to pounce and leave the remains of my dignity to the vultures