I think there are two kinds of people: those who fit well inside frames, and those who don’t. Frames? You might ask. I mean, family, nationality, sex, things like that . . . they’re all frames, aren’t they? They exist outside the body known as “I,” don’t they? I used to live my life inside a gilded frame, but I realized one day that the picture inside the frame was terribly poor. In order to redraw a picture, one has to remove it from its frame. - Double House
So when I got rid all of my hair on the so-called doomsday last December 21, 2012 according to the Mayan calendar, everyone around me were dumbstruck and kept asking “What are you?” Oh my. What a deep question, I thought, considering their state of inebriation. But how should I answer it? Hmm. I don’t really want to answer a question about biology.