Who am I?

Where to start, what to give out?.. There's a flush of sadness and gloom bedded into the description of oneself, an improvisation harked together from a jumble of thoughts, ideas, impressions, turmoils and quietudes, hear-says and reports, all around impoverished statements, like rambling voices lacking, from which is distilled a Leitmotiv, a supra-egotic signature that entails origin and destiny of a living being in its most authentic and yet indefinable, elusive, if not even furtive denominator... like the wind, eternal, fleeting, ubiqitous yet unsubstantial...

Identity which like a weed flower rocks dainty in exhibit and sturdy in resilience from the debris of a lichen-clad withered and forgotten tomb....

Now perhaps imagine life, somehow sidetracked to the periphery of life embraced ordinarily, bustling and ever-effacing in the routine mechanical drumbeats of genic and societal infrastructure. Close by facing this spatial blandness,where the horizon and the relative axis of one's own position collapses into a singularity and then bursts out in an expanding thrift of waves, like centrifugal circles on a water plane after a thrown stone has disturbed its evenness; and absence of time or a failure to comply to the wooden punctuality of passing strokes on a clock.

Manifoldness and fragmentation have there no meaning and are seen as they're really are beyond assumptions and bias, solidified rethorical illusions.

But I guess everone has his or her quircks...

And here begin mine... :)