Goines On: Identity

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Goines had the nagging feeling that he wasn’t who he thought he was, that by his thinking about himself he was creating someone not himself, but different in many whimsical, sometimes fantastic ways. He was even more troubled by the implication of this: that he not only did not know who he was, but also could not possibly know, the only apparent avenue to knowing – thinking about himself, crafting sentences to formulate his thoughts – being closed to him as a false path, or many false paths, leading him to constructions, fictions.
    Still, he was somebody, wasn’t he? He was actually there, real? Somehow, despite all, he thought he could depend on that, and he tried to take solace and comfort in the apparent certainty that at least he found the search for himself an agreeable pastime, despite the occasional nagging feeling it brought on. It was better than feeling nothing.

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