When asked who and what I am, I often answer in the vernacular of this planet, depending on the company.

I am male.

I am queer.

I am human.

Or maybe not…

The fact of the matter is that we find this construction constrictive: We are a borrowed spirit made of borrowed material in an ersatz image on borrowed time…

Most humans refer to this as a body. They think of it as a dwelling, I guess. I float around mine, like the hands of a sculpture around clay. We are spirits with bodies, not bodies with spirits, after all.