If They Give Me The Bloody Prize,

For Memory, We Use Our Imagination. We Take A Few Strands Of Real Time And Carry Them With Us, Then Like An Oyster We Create A Pearl Around Them.

I Am The Worst Judge Of My Books.

If They Give Me The Bloody Prize, Why Can't They Say Nice Things About Me?

I Shall Strip Away Layer After Layer Of Grime -- The Toffee-colored Varnish And Caked Soot Left By A Lifetime Of Dissembling -- Until I Come To The Very Thing Itself And Know It For What It Is. My Soul. My Self.

I'm Full Of Self-doubt. I Doubt Everything I Do. Everything I Do Is A Failure.