I am eternity inside a house of mirrors. I am experience, irony, contradiction and mediocrity. I am the wisdom that pools at the bottom of the weathered pockets in your grandfathers favorite pair of trousers. I am Aesop Rock and Aesop's fables. I am Nietzche's Overman stumbling through Plato's Cave. I am Mersault's Algerian jail cell, and Bukowski's Dirty Old Man. I am John motherfucking Galt. I am The Things They Carried. I am Billy Pilgrim, cascading around time and space making friends with aliens. I am the Master Morality and the Slave Morality. I am Michael Jordan batting .202 for the Birmingham Barons. I am your favorite television show that got canceled after two seasons. I am behind Kelly Clarkson's not-so-hazel-after-all eyes. I am Kafka on the Shore, Chasing Wild Sheep through a Hard-Boiled Wonderland at the End of the World. I am the napkins at Elephant House Cafe. I am Hugo Weaving sneering a post-Matrix "hello Mr. Anderson" every time he runs into Keanu Reaves. I am Ignatius J. Reilly selling hot dogs in the French Quarter, bellowing about your tart of a daughter's hideous offenses against Theology and Geometry. Bellowing superciliously (as I adjust my pointy hat and serve you your weenie) about how someone like you could never understand the barbaric degeneration of our society brought about by the filthy loins of your genetically disgusting mother. I am Beethoven's Fifth. I am Nas'3rd LP: I Am, track number 13: the feeling of a millionaire spending a hundred grand. I am Walter Sobchek hurling the ringer of dirty undies out of "our" car. I am Jason Bourne's sense of confusion. I am Garry Kasparov eating his words losing to Deep Blue. I am Martha Stewart's unbecoming new outfit. I am the Myth of Sisyphus. I am the "If You're Looking For Truth, You've Come to the Wrong Place"-Danny Parker strung out on crystal meth, sinking into deep cover to avenge his murdered wife. I am the magic of James' Giant Peach, and I am the reality of Colonel Nathan R. Jessup incriminating himself to prove a point. I am Robert Pirsig's Motorcycle: the basis for self-improvement. I am 2Pac's diminishing body of unreleased work. I am the voyage of the Dawn Treader and the journey to Mount Doom. I am Verbal Kent fooling the whole fucking world. I am Jude Law when he realizes that her name wasn't even Alice, and I am Jane leaving so she won't be left. I am Ben Hawkins searching for Henry Scudder. I am Margerie Dreaming of Horses, and Walkaway Joe. I am the hardened look behind the eyes of a criminal making his way toward the gas chamber. I am the tears in the eyes of his mother and father. I am the sense of curiosity in an infant, and the unexplainable awe in the night sky. I am quiet these days.