(I wrote this five years ago. I don’t know why.)
Let’s throw caution to the wind and name all our kids Caligula. One could do worse and so could two. If we have twins then we’ll not bother to distinguish one from one another so they’ll grow up confused as to what identity might be and always in a jumble of teeth and knees will be brushing one another’s ears and scrubbing behind a tongue they think they own, but don’t or then again perhaps they do. Who’s to say?
I often ask it: “Who’s to say?” I’m not to say, if I may say so. I’ve never understood identity or consciousness as others do or seem to do or try to seem to do so. It’s as if I’m colorblind to waves of thought and personhood that emanate from brains. Take you, for instance, by which I very well may mean “take me”. Yet can there be a doubt it’s my hand grips the roses what is held up to your nose right now and my blood dripping from the thorns of them onto your vintage leather apron? What’s with that get up anyhow? You’d think you prowl about in alleys or is that “I” by which I mean the I I cannot know or comprehend or only half remember as a criminal in vintage leather apron?
Agree or disagree?
Which is it?
Who’s to say?
You? Don’t make me laugh. I’ll say so when I want you telling me that you agree or disagree with me or will I by which I almost certainly mean “you” or maybe after all I mean Caligula, our dautghterson and twin(s) and/or whicheverall may be. One thing’s for certain is, them kids is growing fast and needs new leather aprons to wear for school. What will the teacher say and who exactly is that teacher to think he has a sayso? Athenodorus is it? If it’s so, then very well, so now my cover’s blown as I’m not August, Tiberi, Germanic or even Claudius and my leather apron’s stained, see look how you’ve besmirched it with the blood of you from roses and let’s say it was your mother in that alley all those nights ago.
On second thought, let’s go with Nero and afterwards be deified.