I asked * to write something, an account, an experience, a way of communicating, an attempt to give an understanding of the integration of his many cultural shift selves, and this is what he gave me:
i is always plural, sometimes even public. it is there in the conflicting histories and cultures that i have lived, or have lived me. i weep for the things i don't miss. i long for those i've hated. i believe what i don't, what i couldn't imagine if not for it being always with me. my eyes see the stars through shifting perspectives of wonders and derisions and where they meet. i am where they meet. they mean what they don't and are meaningless.
i love that you smell like the worst of my memories. as you walk to the edge of the canyon wall, the opening of the divide and the ending of the plain dissolve into a rejection of a continuing desire, one that will not end for its very rejection.
the way that you look at me fills me with desire and revulsion. your body's the epitome of everything i've wanted, all that i disregard, what i've wished to be, and unnoticed despite being before me. attentional blindnesses and persistences of vision. filters and ways of looking and not looking, of seeing what isn't.
to some extent, i can suppress those perspectives that would make the situation before me unbearable, but echoes exist within every experience. i can incorporate those that seem most beneficial, but that is left to chance as what i consider beneficial is ever changing, evolving. writing this now, desiring to write it, willing to write it, tolerating to write it, is fragile work. more of me, those i've been and am, desire it to be so at this moment. i have torn this account up, endlessly rewritten it, forgotten it exists the moment i am most intent on it. i abandon it to you now.
—From the anthropological interviews with * of the Culture of Cultures