Who am I? So many have told of me and have spoken with my mouth. They say I invented magic and then poof! I made astrology appear. With that I gained the foreknowledge of truth that diligent stargazing affords the patient. But those who lived my life didn’t stop there, oh no, not when it was relentlessly clear that I had invented truth itself. Believe me. That’s when my magic, they tell me, turned to the black variety and I became fearsome. Those closest loved me, especially for the words they said with my voice. He that stealeth from the poor lendeth to the lord. I became for some a prophet of God! Imagine that. Nietzsche even said that the priests, those poets of the Veda, were unfit to unfasten my sandals. Of course I too was a Vedic Priest. As I understand, in that capacity I wrote millions and millions of lines of verse. To give myself enough time for such a task, I invented the week. You’re welcome. And born from necessity, I invented hieroglyphics; I used them to hide my invention of Alchemy. Well to speak the truth that element of my curriculum vitae never quite stuck; Those who move Hermes Trismegistus’ mouth had that particular market cornered. Better PR. In my later career I denied to oblivion many deities so I could invent a singular monotheistic morality. Then Nietzsche used my voice to deny morality in favor of truth, my prior invention. Ay me. Well, what could I do? My life is an accomplishment of others. Rather grand and famous others too, I might add. I was the teacher of Pythagoras, they say. Plato liked the words in my mouth so much that he passed them off as his own. Excuse me, Socrates’ own. I was even Yeats’ pen pal! There’s a laugh to rival the one I had on the day I was born. My head came out pulsating and there I was, infant tiny thing giggling away. To my mother’s horror my head could repel the touch of a hand. You can’t touch this. Oh a unique birth to be sure. And rather an unnatural death as well. I’m rather proud of this one. By the time of my doom people were calling me a living star. Can you imagine? Me, a star! So how does a star die? I was murdered by another star. Was it really a meteor? Maybe lightning? You’re asking me? You show me what’s real. I wouldn’t know, I wasn’t there.