It's difficult to be introspective and not be self obsessed. My self obsession revolves around an infinitely miniscule and infinitely dense core of borderline self loathing. That helps to keep me in check. The introspection takes on a whole other meaning when it's balanced on who I am and who I want to be. The dark corners of my psyche sometimes stretch and yawn from the shadows. Times like those the only light being cast comes from the smoldering ashes of my dreams.
Not really, but it sounded good when I typed it.
For years this painting hung in my mother's house. I remember standing in front of it and wondering what he found so interesting to endlessly peer at his own image. I still think that when I look at this painting hanging in my brother's house now.