a thing that is indisputably the case.

I stripped away the signifiers: the jobs and the casual hobbies, now. I eliminated the actions, the reactions, the upbringing and the places which I called home. I scraped away the beliefs, the words we use to describe to what ideals one ascribes to, to what religion one may or may not bow, and how we even define pure movement on a daily basis. It had to be gone. At least, that was the challenge, to see what remained when everything else had been taken away: the food, the habits, the preferences, the stories, the dreams, the realities.

I removed the “groups” to which I wanted to belong, I downplayed the likes and dislikes. I don’t dress in a “certain” way as to make it seem I’m one thing or another, although in the next life I either want to be a tree or a drag queen. Preferably the latter. I became wholly unremarkable because, honestly, that is the truth. A body, some electrical impulses and plenty of inadvertent functions that keep the machine running smoothly every day (no matter how much I think that I’ve “broken” it.)

And what is left? What exactly is left, without anything that makes a person understood and understandable by society? What is the identity, then?

Good fucking question.

Because the scary part is: how is the bit that is left enough for anyone.