Setting the Bar
Macrocosm is the dominant picture, the picture; distorted.
Lies, war, and worse, pride are overwhelming in existence. This being so, I avert my eyes.
Instead, I focus on a microcosm; myself, a much different picture, but no less distorted.
Lies, war, and pride take a back seat to their antonyms, yet this picture is just as depressing to look at as the first.
For some reason, I cannot look away, though. By no means does this imply narcissism, but rather criticism.
I am my own worst critic.
My own eyes pierce through my self-esteem like two steel knives, leaving it wounded, but not dead. Death would be too easy, so instead I suffer.
The worst possible outcomes arise in the absence of a view from another. Then, again, I am probably setting the bar too high,
But how can I know for sure without someone to set it right? If set at all by somebody else, how can I decipher truth from pity or truth from intent to hurt?
So, what constitutes knowing myself? Do these thoughts show that I know myself more or less than before I wrote them?
These questions, oddly enough, make my life worth living.
-Shifty, the gumwad bandit #27 | 
