I remember being an angry young man before I was just a grumpy old dog. I remembering hating the universe and writing empassioned rants and cruel, sly trolling writeups, I remember mocking those who tried to spread trite fluffy niceness and nurturing my own bitterness.

I remember thinking that I was better than everybody else because I could see how meaningless it all was, how there was no love, no hope, no better tomorrow.

Tempus fugit and tempi mutandur. There is love out there that isn't just a delusion. There is contentment and happiness that makes everything worthwhile. There is duty, and honour and respect.

Michael Moorcock is fond of writing that the multiverse and the mind of man are both infinite, yet each contains the other.

Stop hating yourself. It's too much like hard work.