I dined on uncountable spites, from subatomic spites to those of bold conceptual design. I dabbled in murderous and premature confidences. I fed the boiler of bitterness, and whistled a heinous cry as I passed through any tunnel that had no other side. I flew on wings of ill animus and feathered my bed with an abomination of duck down and disdain. Eventually, I poisoned myself and tied my torso to a gentle tree until leaves withered and sizzled and ricocheted and cramped like an exploding arboretum of dehydrated guts. I danced to the sound of eternal rest, even doing a jig on my own final twitch. I committed acts of excretion. At the end beyond the end I was nominated for a prize and I spat on it.