I must be me. I'm the only possible explanation for myself. Nothing about me makes any sense at all unless I'm me. Is it only me, or are you me too? If so, isn't it fun? I mean, sure, it's awful sometimes, but it's also fun, right? You must think so. I'd think so if I were me, which I am. I've come to the conclusion that I am. I'm going with that for now. Enough about me. Let's talk about something/one else.
She told me once that she didn't think the story of her life would be a biography but a poem. "I just don't think I've lived in prose," she said. "And I certainly haven't lived in the genre Biography." I think I know what she means. I cannot remember events falling into place one after another leading up to this event. Looking back over my life I just see the rhythmic interplay of various reoccurring themes. I can remember feeling more than I can feel remembering. I don't think there's a story to tell, but I think there's a poem to recite in there somewhere. "What do you mean?" I asked, not really relating to what she said at the time. But the stanza was over. She was gone.
Having figured out who I am, I'm beginning to focus on you. I must admit, I'm bewildered by you. Being scientific, however, I know that there must be a reasonable explanation for you. I just have to find it. Then, once I understand you and me, I'll begin to formulate my Grand Unified Theory of Us. There has to be a reason. I'll let you know what I find out.
Hello, friends. How are you? Please be specific and provide references.
Later. Love.
