ID

Second syllable of what was once my name, now used only by the bank, by the government, and by certain few women who insist on it: you are like the necktie I long ago forgot how to fasten. No, scratch that. You are like that great bulb of an Adam’s apple I sported before my neck widened and absorbed it. I and D, you make me trochaic. You turn me into my ancestor, that quiet boy I suspect that I, as a Dave, would’ve hated, because he thought he was special, and not in the short-bus kind of way. A David. God’s favorite sociopath, going buck-wild in front of the ark: no David is ever quite free of that chaos, that cauldron, that id.

But Dave? A name without promise or poetry. Every Tom, Dick and Harry is named Dave now, you say — but that’s precisely the point. It was only when I freed myself of the i.d. that I started to discover who all I might become.

Posted in
Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave's writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the "share alike" provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

5 Comments


  1. !!

    It’s fascinating that you seem to locate this “ID” as appendages or coverings for that place in your neck where your voice originates.

    Reply

    1. Yeah, I don’t know what was up with that. Maybe a voice reference, maybe the frog-in-my-throat idea.

      Reply

  2. without id, you can’t drive, buy beer, borrow books, fight wars or vote. I guess you could easily live without it…you almost do.
    enjoyed your thoughts here.

    Reply

Leave a Reply