I wish for a day when we own ourselves. I am tired of myself. Every natural urge holds be back, slows me down. For what I want is never natural. To inspire, to invent, to plain old create: these wishes are so unnaturally human.

Animal in the abstract: human, naturally born unnatural. Evolution is out of God's hands. We must now carry our own torch. For, like so many silent whispers, I wish to write my own identity: biology and all.