I love the idea of identities, but hate the nomenclature of names.
Names, stubborn in their own finitude never seem to satisfy as description. They are pricetags handled roughly by the obese woman behind the counter. Rung up, given a value, bagged without ceremony. And when the job is done, she offers a verse.
Identity–much sooner forgotten, transcends description. At times, as static as a name, but with potential for progress be it in the mundanity of the positive or the exhileration of negativity. Identity is definition beyond words– not so constrained by action or thoughts as personality, or as dreadfully uncontrollable as genetics. Blessed with relativity it is the “who” behind the why and how where “when” and “what” matter less than from which horizon the sun desires to peek when it wakes. It is perspective filtered through perspective; a treasure undeserving of a bill of sale.