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Identity is the inward sense of being that one projects outwardly. Or, I think that's what identity is now. It can consist of other attributes and phantasms, also. A shared sense of self, particularly as it conforms to a recognizable heritage, though that sense can become delimited by an array of ambiguous cultural and racial superstitions.
To note another's unshared heritage is heresy.
Only we can assert me.
I got the news this morning that a friend committed suicide. He was one of my favorite old people, from back before the war. His mother killed his father, then herself, many years ago. I remember when he told me, one afternoon when we were listening to records. I was shocked by the truth of it, the complete and violent supremacy of the act. There can be no murder trial in such cases, except in absentia, when there is money to be fought over.
His children found his body on Tuesday.
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