There are things we do, which make who we are, yet my identity only has a name and never a term. It can’t be tried, tested or analyzed, only questioned and debated upon. It is broken to the simplicity of any existence and then claimed as a coming of vile, juvenile or preceding outcomes. Everybody questions the past, but we don’t really care from where we came to be, we just want to become something else. Change is everything we ever want. Foolishly, it is consistency of an ideal period that we truly deserve. You try to foresee yourself, but each time history changes just a bit more. It makes you want to start something new, but we all carry weight of our unfinished work. Something new is the same as something unseen, both are idiotic. We have seen all there is, beyond our vision is stupidity.