who am i

a philosophical discourse of course changes perspective muses one drunk man to another, then another butted in: nay, it's the other way around, the clothes make the man, a designer nodded approvingly, of course that's how it is while a religious man arches his back, hell no, it is the inside that counts! pah, a stranger asleep woke up from his slumber, religion is external, for others to see, a show really but who are you - he jabs his fingers to the arched back man who looks uncomfortable, then prays. the stranger takes a shot of vodka and whispers conspiratorially to those on a table, who am i? he asked while gazing about expectantly, blank stares went about, no one really wanted to further into talks of depth when shallowness was more a mental stimulation that had served it's purpose. outside in or inside out? chatters came about again, some pleasant, some less so but the cheers go the gleeman found friends everywhere while midas finally smashed the last golden statue, no longer amused. it's a mindset, a heartset, who am i a label given by men, who take it away as quickly as they give, or a permanent something because it is a breath, a sigh, an existence of i. fascinating isn't it? when mutters go long into the night, the i constantly changing, transforming, no one left the inn for the wiser when spirits were high, they all fell into slumber once again, woke up like nothing ever happened.