lo, an existential crisis

A good indication of a really insecure bastard. Last night I clocked a grand total of five hours brooding on the shit, two of which was employed in staring at an empty ceiling thinking stupidly about the theoretical associations between language and voice pitch.

It also occurs that I can erase history if I want to. (although I would advise you not to look too closely at the pencil-imprints.)

Why do teddy bears fight?