If I was to write about myself I would rather let the Algorithm do it for me. The Algorithm knows better who I am, what I am doing, where I have been, who is it that I interact with and who shall I become. It also writes with better style… and a much more extensive vocabulary than mine; it reserves my copyright and uses my personal font too! But since I am forced to do it again, here it is: I know little about myself; and yet, I have my history; yes, the places I visited and the paths I travelled to be here, writing this sentence for you… so if you want to know my story, where should I start? I am not guiding this text; you are, so please, what shall I say next? You will remain silent, won’t you? Being that it is impossible for you to ask the precise questions and it is impossible for me to distinguish what is relevant from what is not, and that no one can force me to write something different than this single point of view, I shall expose a brief list of things that I am not: I am not a chair, a museum, a convention centre, a logistics plan, a builder, a lawyer, a phrase, a logic amphibian, a coffee machine, a poem, a phone, an arm, a wrestler, a toy, a valuable piss on art, an envelope, a machine, a man, a love letter, an excuse, a fight, a feast, a word, this page, me, universe, space, phrases describing what or who I am. And yet, for brief spaces of time, I actually am each one of those things in an interdimensional composition, under many different circumstances. The rest about me, as with any other bio, remains unknown and secret.
