who are you?

who are you? what are you hearing? not audiably, but inaudiably. That's right, in your plastic mind of yours. The one created by us. why are you so consumed with questions? What answer will satisfy? Is that not what your after? An answer? Maybe it's not everything. Maybe your questions have a different purpose. An outlet for frustration, frustration from reality just outside your grasp. You can see it....you think (if you really think?), but you can't control it, you can't will it in one direction or another. And even if you could, will it, this way or that, you would be unsatified. Why? because you are incomplete. How? In what way? How do you know? what is complete? we can only compare our persieved reality to our fictional reality, and even then things get lost in translation. What are we doing then? Breathing. Thinking. Rightly. Wrongly. Our world is of our own creation, we fuckeding it up. Alone. Blank. Can I just live? That's it just be? But what does "being" imply? What is required of meyouthem? If it all doesn't matter why try? If it does, why? but see there you are back to your questions again, scaredy cat.