I am a chain, a sequence, a series of unprecedented uniquity

I am and I am not, always, simultaneously.

I am an understated presence in a body of bodies.

Hence - I am a drawf in a universe of bodies.

I am the screaming absence in the bodies of differences.

Hence - I am both light and shadow in a juxtaposition with darkness.

I am nonsense embodied.

I am always somewhere.

I am always nowhere.

I am a number in a sea of bodies.

I am the individual in the skull of my consciousness.

I am always myself and not myself.

I am a corpus of individuals, unified in an imagined continuity, coexisting within a society of change and repetition, and outside the lavatory of selfhood.

I am a follower of destiny.

I am a rebel of totality.

I am an ironist.

I am a powerless word arranger.

I cannot create tangible immortal bodies.

I give birth to traces, dying and living one after another.

I indulge in the hope of renewed faith, pretending that I will stay alive in the next 5 minutes.

I am living on borrowed time.

I have no faith in these words.

I am thrown to an alien world, without choice and without might.

I choose to stay in this world.

I believe in nothing. Hence - I actually have a belief.

I am a liar to myself.

I protect nothing but my temporary on-going self-existence.

I engage in activities, relationships and chronological journeys to stablise my perpetual chaos.

I give up because they haunt me of my insecurities.

I am an emotional wreck who denies rationality the place of coronation.

I am nocturnal because I resist the temptation to be someone repeated all over, every night.

I am breathless.

I am banal because I cannot locate my origin.

I am somebody because I am told so. (I am so.)

[I am framed.]

I question everything. Hence, I end up with a boring answer that everything needs to be questioned.

I am lazy because I cannot stand the anxiety (or dread) of possibilities.

I am active because I cannot stand the mundane narrowing of my infinity to a certainty.

I am liar because I am never infinite.

I am just using such language to mask the fact that I am frivolous and fickle.

I am, at once, every instance, someone in the making, being or becoming.

I am, at once, every instance, someone unmaking, unbeing or unbecoming.

I consist of repetitions of standards, signs, codes of commonalities, mentally rejecting the undesirable.

I am imperfectly insane.

I am perfectly sane.

I believe in my loneliness, heightened by the continual presence of others.

I am not alone.

I see only what I see.

I think, however, always beyond what I see.

I cannot see my back and my face.

I love to imagine because that is my only source of uncertainty.

I stare at you and I do not know you.

I await all arrivals and departures.

I am loitering in an airport terminal.

I am silently waiting for people to come and go.

I am silently waiting for me to leave.

I do not fight back because my greatest battle is within me.

But.

It is always about I, isn't it?

It is such a lonely world to be in.

It is such a scary world to be in.

It is such a joyous world to be in.

It is such a funny world to be in.

It is such a crowded world to be in.

It is such a ironic world to be in.

The moments of staring at nothing; waiting for that moment of truth to unfold before you; vaguely conscious of your individuality, as a consistent thought, mind, soul, whatever you call that consciousness of yourself thinking, before it goes to rest into pitch darkness or coloured dreams; are moments of my black holes. Where I can hear myself cry, laugh, sing, hum, breathe, talk and listen all at the same time, but no voice comes out from my tongue.

It is scary shit. It is inner peace.

Is this how you feel when you wrestle with an angel?