The trouble is, more I try describing myself, more amorphous the whole thing becomes.... a bit like those small blobs of mercury I was so fond of catching as a kid decades ago. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't. In short, we change. We all change with time and experience. With sorrow and suffering. With opinions and those prejudices which for want of anything better we prefer to call wisdom. With luck and misfortune and all the rest of it.
And that's why I write. For what I write, completely defines me at that precise moment it gets written. It pins me down for just that infinitesimal moment. The rest before and after, is all change. Words for me are the watch-dogs of an ever depleting conscience, the nails that crucify me to the cross of my hypocrisies. My words are the chroniclers of my deviations.