Me

Doe, a deer, a female deer
Ray, a drop of golden sun

Me, a name I call the rational, conscious part of my brain. Freud called this the ego, or self. So what are the parts of me that aren't me? Do my subconscious thoughts share my existance, or just interact with it? Can I (being »me«) assume responsibility for the uncontrolled actions of my id and superego? And if this is »me«, then who the hell are »you«?

'Me! I stay here of course. I always do.'

I am, therefore I am. Me Myself and I.

Me I Myself am the only me I know. You are always you but only I am me

Tell me the truth about me and you!!

They were asking what I think about me. But I was afraid of what they would do with the information if I gave it to them. In truth, I was afraid to discover it myself, too. So I probably prevaricated for a while, pretending to tie my shoelace, check the timetable I always carry for such moments – yes, such a challenge *was scheduled but they are never usually on time – and enquired of one, whether we could have met before, at such-and-such a conference or interview. After a bit of this, the atmosphere changed. I could teleport, or I could try and cooperate, as we all wanted. Me, I said. I think it's gone astray.

In Neal Stephenson's »Snow Crash«, he says that the ancient babylonians had tablets on which were written »me«, which were sort of the equivalent of computer programs for humans. Reminds me of Dawkins' term, »meme«, referring to a self-replicating idea. Perhaps if you infect the assoziations-blaster with enough of your memes, the assoziations-blaster will come to resemble you. I suppose it would be easiest to infect something or someone with your memes when they're young, before they've had a chance to encounter other people's memes.

That's me!!
That's me!
ooh!
ooh!...oohhh,
you voluptuous Manhattan Island clit...
Take me...
I'm yours, you hole...
Fulfill my... wildest...dreams!...

(Mothers/Fillmore June 1971)

It is funny but over my life of 63 years (so far!) I have always been the same me. I recognise some changes in my decision making abiliites, and my hopes and desires, but I am still the same me I remember about 58 years ago. (I don't remember much before then.) Maybe others who have actually grown up into adults have changed more. I have had a problem with growing up--to bad I have no problem with growing old.

I wonder if anbyone else feels the same?