I am something of a cultural hermaphrodite. Name any culture (though not all cultures)-- and I'm there.
In Denmark, I'm great Dane, ordering an "Ein hof" with the rest of them in the swell, woody bar, where people stand up on wppden benches and salute each other.
In Germany, I'm "ein prositing" with the rest of the lederhosen set, demanding fire.
In Greece, it's raising the philosophical question, 'To Ti?" as I shine flashlights in caves.
In Egypt, I am black, always have been black. It is black cuture, really, is it not.
I Crete, I wait for earthquakes, even now.
In Tel Aviv, I am Hebrew, pondering the mischief of chutzpah. "I have killed my mother and my father. Pity me now. I am an orphan."
People say a split personality is the result of early childhood abuse. This is true with me, as I seem to have been abused by friggin' near everybody in the course of The Second World War, that great F-up, resolved only by nuking civilians.
Now we are still nuking civilians. I think I myself have been somehow nuked.
Over this wr this way, one foot in the grave, I am wondering how, so far, I have outlived it all. Do the mad live forever?
The closest clue as to my condition comes from an obscure note in Carl Gustav Jung.
Dare I write it?
It is the image of God shitting on a cathedral.