I am seeking definition for myself in beginning a new web site, and once again I find words fail me.  What tragic creature am I?  A writer who distrusts language.  It is my understanding of the imperfect nature of language that leaves me to judge each word warily, wondering at what the meaning might be behind its simple intonation.
     Tonight, as I started writing, I asked a close friend to offer a few words to me that she felt would describe me.  The first three words that came to her mind: sensual, empathic, and strong.  When winning someone over in conversation I explain that I am a bi-poly-switch, which means I’m socially flexible (cue jovial laughter and the clinking of ice in glasses).  Words will always be both a passion and a disappointment in my life, for I am poisoned with the drive to attempt the impossible—to express in the ill-chosen medium of language who and what I am.  I should not be surprised; after all, the greatest human addiction is the desire to make others understand just that.
      I question everything; reality, authority, my own beliefs--I challenge others to dig deeply into the roots of their basic assumptions, and expose them to the light of day. Not everyone realizes what they hold as foundations for their lives. Imagine what you might unearth.