This is my dialogue, this is me. A dialogue that l am trying to recall, discover more and erase. There seems something inexplicable in the powers with in this dialogue, the failures, the successes, the variations of my memory, than in any other of my intelligence. The memory of this dialogue is sometimes so absorbent, so strong, so docile; at others, so dazed and so fragile; sometimes it is so dictatorial that it refuses to let me help myself. But my potential of forgetting and remembering does seem strangely past unearthing something. What is it? I ask myself; I am a dialogue which is still learning to exist.