Exactly which fictional character I best represent is open to decided variation as my persona does change monetarily, or perhaps simply I am but some hybrid bred from the literary genes of numerous incantations. Obviously as a figure most tragic or horrific, not the pantomime fool I endlessly attempt to imitate, for my plots are decidedly more twisted that convoluted, painful rather than torturous, ever falling short of the fulfilling climaxes they so erroneously are inclined to starkly promise.
Human existence is a play inclusive of numerous acts, not particularly well formulated to lead to a defining conclusion, or a transformation scene most wonderous and enlightening. Rather life bumbles along, heading stutteringly forwards without apparent purpose or destination, until does manage to find the threshold of the next episode in the series, or alternatively, and equally likely, a fateful conclusion.
Every individual is in the peculiar position of being acter and audience simultaneously, a most confusing division of responsibilities, leading to endless farce and embitterment.