Every morning, when I rise, I go to the mirror and look at my fat, aged, balding head with baggy eyes and loose jowel and look ruefully at myself before saying:
“You really are a useless pathethic cunt, Darren.”
It’s a psychologically trick to toughen myself up against the world, because if you insult yourself enough you develop a tough skin. And you need one when comments such as the following appear on the back of my recent “Death to the Music Biz” entry:
Dave Curse (or Mr Made-up-Name) wrote:

. . .Yes, you are an idiot dreamer. You’ve never had any success so you direct your anger and bitterness at anything failing, you pathetic hobbyist asshole.

Oh my feelings are hurt, they really are…
I think I’ll just sell my guitar and quit recording right now because you are right. I’ve achieved absolutely nothing in my 39 years. I really am a pathetic wretch, ain’t I?

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