you could make a tree weep with your self pity. the self-pitier doesn't want to draw attention to his self-pity but it tends to attract negative attention. wow, i think it goes back to dad, with sundry surrogates in between. i must have been shamed for my feelings when very small. the shame about my aesthetic vices and devices links back through series of shames of many shades stretching back to some ur-experience in life with father. but what did he tell that kid, that ur-me? something quick and penetrating, some stab he'd had himself? i remember him pushing me into cub scouts, and little league, feeling inadequate, feeling different, wanting to flee. but there was no escape. except i did god damn it, i refused, i dropped out, i quit, saying the pledge of allegiance, saluting the scout master, making the two fingered oath. i always felt like i had to proceed by negation, i wasn't his surrogate, not even one he could jettison and abandon. when he gave me a small wad and said he'll never work as long as he has two nickels to rub together, i left like he left, conflated and ambivalent. i feel shame even blaming him, because he always blamed me. but does it have to be blame? can't i just go on, anyway? no i keep going back, to that writhing place, between self-pity and shame and a stubborn resolve never to fit in this world, because i felt that too early, and indelibly, i would always be stuck, i'd always stick out, or disappear, i'd never fit, i'd never be fit for this world, and by now it's nobody's fault but mine.
o fuck it, it's nothing but a mad jumble again. can you believe i'm writing this on saturday night? for shame. 
i wonder how potent or incapacitating shame is for others. i just thought of it being transmitted like a quick jab, maybe an inoculation, to a bad mom or dad, preparing a soft kid for a hard life. leaving him always unprepared, with his best resource being unprepared, when it can be turned to inner strength.