O n my first trip to Rome with Daddy, we went to visit all the churches, mostly for a goof — at least, that's how my 13 year old self took the whole business. But a couple of things did catch my attention. One was the incense — their incense was killer, much stinkier and better than anything we used back in Hawaii, even the Nepalese "buddha bombs" we saved for the Gatherings every four years. The other thing that caught my fancy was the confessionals and the very notion of confession itself. The way Daddy explained it to me, it almost sounded like some bizarre primitive custom, like something the old Hawaiians might have done. It was the exact opposite of what we were raised to believed — namely, whereas we were all taught that you you never tell anybody the truth about anything no matter who they are, the Romans made a point of admitting everything they had done to some bureaucrat they hardly knew, in return for which they were somehow "forgiven" for their crimes and the slate washed clean. If only!!!

I n my 26 years I've seen a lot of different situations and I've found a way to fit myself into all kinds of scenes. I've been many different things to many different people. I knew early on — Daddy knew it too, that's why I was chosen — that I had a particular knack for assuming various identities of whoever it was a given set of people and a given social setting called on me to be. I could create a character that would allow everything to flow smooth as possible and everybody would be happy. I could come and go so that I was always welcome when I showed up, was always given what I came there for without question, and then I could leave without anyone being put out or surprised. What it all boiled down to was that I could impersonate various characters without feeling that any of them were false or unnatural or less than real. No matter who I was being at any given time, I was always being myself.

S o, by combining my gut read of the situation with some hasty research here in the library on the subject of psychotherapy, I have decided right off that I won't make myself believable to Doc T. simply by giving him a streamlined stylized sliver of my possible true self, as I usually do, but that instead I need to make him feel that he is getting some sort of comprehensive god's eye view of me and my multiple identities, a view that is moreover very dynamic and evolving as a result of our "therapeutic alliance" and our "work" and so on. At the same time, I need to keep a handle on the relationship and exercise whatever flex is available to me to keep the Doc interested and invested in my "case". In practice this suggests a complex interplay between fact and invention, wherein I will give more than enough truth to account plausibly for the known facts in my dossier and to create an impression of completeness, and also create additional information as needed, so as to keep the sessions flowing and exciting. I will sometimes need to fabricate and later confess to the fabrication, so as to build confidence and create verisimilitude to the therapeutic ideal of moving towards some ultimate and emerging "truth" about myself and my life. Also I need to build trust so that I can subtly draw Kanaka out enough to give me some purchase on his motives and fixations.

S peaking of which — I would like to present a few, ahem, refinements of the material I presented in the first blog entry. To wit:

"Call me Cher" etc. — two things to be said about this. First, I got the idea for this riff from an obscure adventure book here in the library. You probably wouldn't recognize the name even if I could remember it. Second, I have used so many names and aliases and none of them are any more real or true than any other. But then again I gave the names that I gave and not other ones which I might have chosen for a reason: "Cher", because it happens to be my so-called legal birth name and because it means dear. "Shere" because it looks more exotic, because it contains the words "she" and "here"— let's face it, I'm kinda stuck in this joint for now — and also because it relates in a funny way to something else I came across here in the stacks. And "D.D." because it is the abbreviation of my clan middle name, and my clan is my family, my source of wisdom and identity, and more. Also because it derives from my childhood fascination and delight with cartoons and cartoon characters. So this is the handle I use back home with other clan members and for various celebrations and functions. So, for all intents and purposes, notwithstanding any other identity I may assume at one time or another for expediency's sake, I am in fact Cher "Disney Dirtbag" Daley, true daughter of the Dirtbag Clan — for real and for keeps.