A page from a journal:

At the time, the brown ales flowed more than my heart and motivations but still I looked at myself. Wanted [to] show others what I didn’t like seeing: myself. A self-hate of africanesque, privileged, non-american ideals.

I had to scream to a world of strangers.

~

I like to tell them I don’t know any better. Not as a means of self-deprecation but as a means of getting the upper hand.