Mission statement before the vernal equinox

I build up the little (I'm too proud to say nothing) that I am with bits of everything. With surreal glimpses of reality, cinematographic auroras, glamorous cliffs, lack of poise, chats, and above all crocks of thus. In other words, with the art of fleeting moments, charms from movies, music or silence (can mean both), social pretending, grace in dance or betrayals of conscience (can mean both), and above all words. Attempting to figure out the lines and acts in my play, while practising for my future full commitment to words (to those culturall determined random pieces of sounds or graphic representation that define and are defined by our thinking, those painfully gourgeous builders of it all). At all times attempting to be socially lucid of the postmodern 'world of fragments with reality created thorugh performances', or of the simulated culture of quotations and pastiche I am sometimes part of.

Here is little of the little that I am, hopefully encrypted enough to keep it a secret, but not enough to lose sense, nor senses. Less styled up than what I tend to make my private places appear, more out loud and louder than I usually speak. And here are some research questions (of a child, but I do believe all our former ages are inside us like smaller Russian dolls), from 'Song of Childhood' by Peter Handke (the leitmotif in Wim Wender's 'Wings of Desire'):

When the child was a child,
It was the time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Is life under the sun not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear and smell
not just an illusion of a world before the world?
Given the facts of evil and people.
does evil really exist?
How can it be that I, who I am,
didn’t exist before I came to be,
and that, someday, I, who I am,
will no longer be who I am?