...

I am not what I would like to be, and yet, I am always what I am not and there is nothing outside of that not.

For the moment I become what I am, I seize to exist as anything but a memory. The moment I stop simultaneously creating and destroying myself marks the axe on my grave. But if this is so, then why have I created a self which I despise despite the illusionary existence that that consists of? Why do I legitimize a name that repulses me be continuing in footsteps that lay me out as the fool? But I am a fool.. Or at least I play one on tv. Even the fool cannot be judged so with any coherence except after death, and even then all is lost since all things past are but subjective interpretation.