All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
Edgar Allan Poe

So is this project finished?
Not quite yet.

Through the process of writing - fictively, I thought, this text has seemed to take on a life of its own. The identity in question keeps morphing and changing before my eyes, all the while taking unexpected twists and turns.

And despite my belief in the non-centrality of identity, I found that as this project continued, I felt an overwhelming possessiveness over My Self. As if the liberal sprinkling of my own pieces throughout this work was somehow a threat

But however fragmented the I and "I"(of the text) are or have become, there is nevertheless a sort of core that we both keep coming back to.
Ideas, images, thoughts.
Elements which define us despite the diverging discourses of potentiality.

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