I am what I am? What am I? Hedonist, Activist, Devil, Bodhi, Perverse Geek? I am what I am.
I am violent tempered but always happy. I am sickened by the world’s decay, but delight in the cause of the infections that lead to that same decay. Opposite ends of the same slide rule. I ask myself daily; “Self, what are you today?” The response is never the same and always confusing. I am what I am.
I AM, isn’t that what God said in Genesis? Was God indecisive too? Fool, you are not a god! But I do believe a god rests in each one of us.
I am pleasure. Who doesn’t like to find pleasure? Come to me. The sweet, sweet embrace of another, the moisture of the kiss, the exhilaration of the something new, dangerous and palpable that causes an alkali sensation to rise from your throat.
I am what I am and that’s all that I am. Are my forearms as big as Popeye’s? And just what caused that deformity anyway? Surely not masturbation (as the midnight comics suggest) or we would all be his brothers.
I am Buddha. My inner being screams in disgust at being reborn again and again and again. I know how to break the wheel of karma, but that Ferris wheel holds wondrous deprivations along the way and who am I to not try on one or two of those hungry ghosts?
I am Fey. My wings are clipped, banality killing me slowly. Where is my golden acorn to plant under a full moon to renew my magic? I am attracted to hell and repelled by a chorus of angels. If there is really nothing better than cloud-sitting in heaven, then why bother--Give me Valhalla. At least in Valhalla I could get good tickets to a fight. I am a mirror.
I reflect what society tells me even as I struggle against the media-ocracy that streams into my sensory organs like polluted waves from the Valdez. An elephant seal of anarchy covers and drowns in my own conservative opinions.
I am female, hear me roar. If for no other reason than being told that, however in touch, I cannot be a feminist. I pay homage to Aphrodite upon her shell, Dianna by her stag. O.K. Maybe not a feminist--how about sexist, or racist, or bigot or xenophobe? Maybe.
I am Worm fodder. I wish to believe in another world after this. but I hide behind science and its violently anonymous creator. When dead, will we all lie quiet as the grave in out grave as the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, the worms get in my guts? No doubt. Would that be so bad?
I am the shade of Inubus and Quatezecotyl, Crowley and Repoche, lapping up their words and making a shit pile of their experiences. What am I?
I am what I am. Silent when I should be loud, and an abomination when I need to be beautiful. Polar opposite made flesh with a grin.
What am I? I am a Questioner. There is no knowledge that can withstand time. Every question is correct and every answer is wrong. How do I know what is truth? Is there really TRUTH--or just Memorex?
I am a Seeker of arcane thoughts and novel philosophies. Everything has been said. But can it be said in a manner that makes sense at this point at this time, Grasshopper? How many licks does it take to get to the center of the tootsie pop? I want to know!
I am the Thinker. Elbow on knee, hand on chin. Why did they kill Copernicus? Was it really just for a heliocentric universe or something much more political? ROY G BIV are the colors of the rainbow, but what if we could see ultraviolet and infrared? If I stood inside the rainbow, would it be back as all the colors mixed? I am what I am.
I am the Adventurer. Sword in hand and cod piece attached correctly. I head out in search of what I question and seek and think about. How else would you find your own truths? Truth, not beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. If every grain of sand is a universe unto itself, then I wish to explore each and every one to delve into their faceted trivialities and pillage the knowledge from them.
I am an organic being, content to take over a new world each night in my dreams and complacently ignore my biological clock counting down to unknown oblivion.