Involute

I think I must be an old soul. There is almost nothing that doesn't interest me, almost no culture that doesn't strike me as familiar in soem way. My eyes are plain, but perhaps that is because they are lit with a thousand views, a million fates. My voice can be both strong and meek, both hard and gentle, both calm and violent. Perhaps the tongues of all my past selves speak through me still. Perhaps when you meet me, really you are meeting a pirate and a princess and an artist and a magician, a thief and a nurse and a blacksmith and a cop. All rolled into one, but none quite melded together. There is no natural state, only a constant curling, a continuous addition of spices into the mix. I am spiritual soup. I am still simmering.