you are you, therefore nobody else will be like you. i wish to be a mirror, i wish to be something inhuman; nonsense mixing with the loss of identity: i begin searching for existences that don't exist—until i fantasize. there's nothing like "me", however that is only because i do not wish to be "me" whatsoever. i am an ideal object permanent to the spot i reside, like a flower pot or something nice. my existence is merely a blur, a blinding light capable of seeing that of which normally isn't. i'm capable, though being capable at living is an achievement i'm unable to gain. "For I do not exist: there exist but the thousands of mirrors that reflect me. With every acquaintance I make, the population of phantoms resembling me increases. Somewhere they live, somewhere they multiply. I alone do not exist." — Vladimir Nabokov.