who "me" is and where that "it" came from to be nothing

I don't know me
I don't even have anything in common with myself
Sometimes i hate myself and love myself
even at the same time!
Cool and hot, me I am,
I can't grasp my identity
i don't remember my values and
what they mean - just tell me about obeying them
as this is true:
everyone is a machine,
clockwork is all that is; it seems to me
we are parts of huge machinery
that was made by machine that was
OF machine,
all that can be, is,
and everything that can't be, is,
and all that is, is nothing at all and doesn't
even exist at all - this all that "is" and "isn't"
exists at the same time - because
it is possible - and then again isn't
this is the duality of everything
and nothing at all


Yesterday i was a giant of massive
knowledge with instant intuition and
light-as-a-feather intelligence of gods,
today i ate ambrosia,
became a slowest of slow moths
and totally inert, like a dead man
at his own funeral, oldest tortoise
of epic age, speaking of idiot
things and doing everything the wrong way,
i noticed i can't please myself - whoever i am

But all in all, now im awake,
the death of me is all okay
wasteland of my seemingly endless wandering
sucked itself to oblivion
and left me standing alone on a bleak island
- the source of all oasis-ideas and peace

This all is wrong, i can't choose
a thing of me to be - or not to be,
vanish and wave goodbye for ever and ever
take me to you, another being like me,
in the same life as I am - you know what im talking about, do you?
im talking to you: "me", a mirror of my soul, gazing upon my sides
I am, i was and i came to be - nothing at all,
"the idea of nothing at all" had it coming,
the wind took me to it's wings
blew the balance back to being
and me, i came to be

We don't have choice at all,
not a flake of snow of our own
in these seas, oceans and rainfalls of useless energy
that isn't anything at all,
i overcame suicidal thoughts that had me earlier,
now that i get it again,

BUT

I am all mine, and that is all i will ever have,
no one else has nothing of me, im all mine, and that
is all that is and matters to me, whoever i am and will
be - as i know im nothing at all to be known.

But neither is anyone else.
That helps me carry my emptiness that weighs as
all that is.
as nothing exists and everything is just emptiness illusion,
THIS ALL can't be, so it must be - just how it is

This idle chatter of existence wears itself out,
i can't even think of this RANT as truth of anything,
some other thoughts push reality and nonreality aside,
to bring me this poem, now i give it to you,
it isn't my poem, there is no real me to make it or give it to you,

sorry if i was so fucking obscure,
i know i wasted my time,
this is all just a damn copy of someone's thoughts,
someone that came before me,
fuck it! i don't care, and even if i did,
what would it tell you of me?
This the hardest shit. Hard to come by and really "get into"
let's all have a thoroughly nonprofit moment
of "Lost in translation" and scenes of passing beauty
sleeping like "a snail on a razorblade"