As if the idea of controling image, own image, wasn't something I was doing all along, as if I didn't ask myself at eight, watching the beginning of Edward Scissorhands: am I living, or am I just playing in this memory, mine or someone elses. And it is a stupid sort of fate, I suppose.

But, I didn't make this thing up. Not the structure, not the cast, not that thing you call Me, either.

Not really.