sometimes I love being loud

and sometimes I love being quiet

and sometimes I love being a quiet person who is mad at loud people

and sometimes I love being a loud person who doesn't care about quiet people

and so the question "who are you?" or the question "who am I?"

is rendered null by the obvious multiplicity of self.

And now we arrive at the powerful and majestic and brimming question:

WHAT

IS 

MY

RANGE?

WHAT

IS

MY

DEPTH?

It's not some check-ed box. It's not some archetype. It's not some series of letters and numbers.

It's a vast old growth forest with fallen ancient logs that bugs and vermin writhe and wriggle under.

It's a system of caverns and tunnels with huge halls and endless narrow passageways that you could explore limited only by the strength of your spirit and imagination.

It's an appalling dump heap overflowing with the most disgraceful assortment of rubbish imaginable AND 

That he is joy, awake, aglow,

The tumult of the heart to hear

Through pureness filter’d crystal-clear,

And know the pleasure sprinkled bright

By simple singing of delight,

If you can know that about yourself or anyone else then you've really gotten somewhere. You've really done something. 

Hold two opposing truths in your hands high over your head like shining golden spheres and say

LOOK AT THIS

LOOK AT THIS

LOOK AT THIS

LOOK AT THIS

LOOK AT THIS

LOOK AT THIS

LOOK AT THIS

LOOK AT THIS