A Swift Defeat at the Hands of Georg Baselitz.

When I was an alien, cultures were opinions.

Beats me how it has come to this: spending another Saturday night alone in my room watching movies by myself, cursing my misfortune at having an abundance of casual partners in my life but no love to speak of. One just left, and I am glad she did. What sort of young man, I implore you, would complain about this? Well, winter wonders, I suppose a young man like me. A young man well versed in both the world of love, and the world of empty, meaningless liaisons. Forgive me this one small complaint. I am just a boy who lacks what most of us crave. I am a grain of sand on an already over-crowded beach.

Dig your hands into and through it. Sift the granules between your fingers and watch them fall back to earth. If you had to pick only one tiny grain, would the grain be mine? How would you tell? Would I stand out to you, on a beach of billions ostensibly the same as me? Or would something larger, more profound, strike me as a class apart from the many who, in their picayunish stature, are as similar to me as an agnate relative? (If you knew the relatives from my father's side, you would realise how absurd that last sentence is. We are nothing alike - physically, or otherwise, as far as I can ascertain.) So the answer, my dears - what is it? Have I any chance of being picked out from among the crowd, or am I to blend in and fade away to a background smudge? Fear and loneliness are such similar feelings to me.

But enough of this torture. Only time, that most fickle and unwavering mistress, will tell. Like the Americans starting another war to secure strategic oil pathways in the Middle East and Asia, it is an inevitability. I suppose preparing myself to be ready in case I am set upon by the great cloud of affection again is a good idea. But, no. I am who I am, and I will bank on it being enough. Probably a self-defeating move. No matter. No worry. No fucking sweat. I'll tell you something for nothing tonight, you errant little skylarks: Never believe the hype.

Who was your worst mistake?