![porus walker porus walker](https://skateparkoftampa.com/spot/productimages/colors/3_78804.jpg)
Ok, my high priestess collar is strangling me now. So many people live in some foreign body because it's too fucking difficult to actually do some serious psychological sleuthing. I think it's great for a number of reasons but one of them is that complacency of self often makes it hard and scary to really investigate who we are. This post was prompted by thinking about a former student of mine who is actually attempting to figure himself out.
![porus walker porus walker](http://www.saladdaysmag.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/GZrnYE0NazLlLmjcKzM_BJxnDHI5OQjb8mStNp0YcAso0BgqGrUwzKbuD-ih.jpg)
PORUS WALKER SKIN
A headless, nameless person judged by something other than breast size, skin tone and footwear. Yes please, that's what I want to see and what I want to be seen. Not being able to discern so much at first glance.
![porus walker porus walker](https://www.tactics.com/a/8fmv/r/anti-hero-porous-walker-guest-art-decks-overlay.jpg)
And I'm summarizing because I really liked that I could fuck with a character's identity enough to make it less visible. I say class, because trench coats are worn both in high fashion and by flashers. The Trenchcoat has no head and because of that the reader can't pinpoint race, gender, or class. So my piece at Arthouse includes a book about a traveling phantom trenchcoat. Or more self-conscious, who the fuck knows. Maybe I'm becoming less of an egomaniac or at least slightly less self-conscious. And I'm not alone in this constant question of my identity and how I choose to present (slash conceal) it. I'm being pretty vague here, but I think I finally realized that everyone's confused as well as confusing. I am a little speck of ali mercury, bouncing around the anal thermometer we call life. But lately, I've found solace in the acceptance of my fluctuating self-image and person. Then other days, I feel like their monstrous spawn (Star Jones-Reynolds?). I remember looking in my mother's bathroom mirror and thinking "jesus, that's me?" The truth is, sometimes I wake up feeling like Aretha Franklin, and other days I feel like Woody Allen. In the past, I've felt so incredibly disconnected from my own visage. I think we all spend our lives trying to align our insides with our outsides to make sure that the freckly curvy thing in the mirror matches up with our freckly, curvy soul. Ok, here is my serious (only somewhat self-effacing) pontification for the month: