Everyday i awake waiting to hear the next accusation of being a walking photocopy, or attempting to be. Scanned, printed, legs sprouted and a third dimension added. This is so false. There are no fallacies in my concepts, though yours of mine stand true. I am not hiding behind a mega-facade. I am living. I am breathing. I am simply being. Apparently, this is a crime.

To be is to be a copy. No individual may arise anymore. Oh, no no! Not from any ashes which lay on this earth, even those yet to be burned. Bear this though; if it is ashes your mind has taken to the copy machine, are we not all but burned fragments of skin when we cease?