Seeing a photograph of myself is often pretty jarring. Why is it that the vision I see of myself in a photo is so different than the one I see in a mirror - not to mention the "self" that I see in my mind's eye? Pondering it can pretty easily cast me into a vortex of self-doubt, wondering how the me that people experience - my voice, my personality, my creative expression - is regarded without my knowledge.

It also makes me worry about photos of me that exist that I might not even know about. How do I appear in these unwitting photographs? Who is taking them, without my knowledge or consent, and from where?

It's ninety-six degrees in the shade... Before I catch blood on my blade.

I've evolved enough that I've learned to not subject others to the fallout of my own unhappiness. I think that's a significant, hard-won behavioral leap that, sadly, a staggering percent of the population of folks I know haven't quite mastered.

Eat you inside out like stress...You hear my voice, you see my face, you know my name / I take it out your ass and charge it to the game

Leibniz mapped the principles concerning the conservation of energy, but nobody has yet scientifically diagrammed the conservation of emotion - have they? How is this subsumed pain vented? Is it released in my art? I hope so, but I also suspect that it's emitted in my sleep.