I do not know why I am hostile. I'm not expressing regret over being so hostile lately, as I don't feel that I have been particularly hostile lately. But I have within me a frightful resevoir of hostility and I know not why. This does not prompt me to question whether I am an essentially good or bad person, but it does pique my curiosity as to its origin. Did something happen to me as a kid? Did I subconsciously hate my childhood? I remember enjoying it quite a bit. This well of hostility, scorn, contempt, anger, whatever you want to call it, has been a part of me as long as I can remember. In elementary school, when all was ignorance and bliss; in middle school, when I realized I was weird and hated myself; in high school, when I learned to thank God I was weird; in college, when all was once again bliss; even today, when there is still a goodly amount of bliss. From whence does all the rage and anger come? What is at the center of the bottomless resevoir of hostility?

I have no idea, nor do I feel like trying to find one. Instead, I'm going to go listen to the eight CDs I got from Asian Man Records. Six albums and two EPs for less than sixty bucks! Thanks, Mike Park!