Lost in mine

I wake up every morning...I fart and I immediately go to the kitchen...But you know, I don't really know who is really going to the kitchen. Is it even kitchen or chicken?

I have no idea who I am. You can call me everything. You are calling me everything.

For instance, if you were my classmates in elementary school you might call me carrot.
Yes, this is who I am

Or perhaps, you met me in secondary school, then you might call me a rebel. A guy who fights too much in football. Nasty player.
Yes, that is also me

Or maybe you were very good friend of mine in high school and we were walking after finishing exams back home. It was something like 19 March 1994. You might call me bloody metal shit...
Yes, you can call me that as well

If you were a taxi driver in 1997 and passing from our house and I took your taxi, you might call me a monk, a bunch of hair.
Yes, I am a bunch of hair.

Or perhaps, you were a girl in 2000, when I was going to finish my BS. You were in love, I think. At least you liked me more than I liked you (but I miss you much more than you miss me)....You might call me dear... Honey dear...
I can be that one too.

If you were in Mashhad, studying in School of Engineering; you might call me fug.
I can be fug and if you want frog as well.

Maybe you met me in Canada. You might call me secret wild love from Indian territories. A Persian wolf.
I love to be a wolf. Lonely, loyal, and wild.

If you were in Birmingham, passing from my side while I was just to say hello to my bud on my mobile. After you hear my voice and sound of SA LAM, you might take your head up and look to my beard. You gonna call me a terrorist
Don't touch me I am gonna explode.

Or you might be that big name in something. You see me in a conference when I was talking about my messy colorful world of evolving numbers. I swear that I was thinking about that one-night American stand in Nice (marvelous beach I should say) and how mysterious sun shine was in the morning. The moment that I smell that massive gap among my space. Such a black hole it was (and still is).
You were thinking that this shaggy guy is going to be something.
Maybe that's why I am not a scientist after I came back. Scientists have salty eyes. Now I understand, science is sort of black magic. A black magic that you can sell.

Or maybe you met me in the garden at some times in September with the sky full of stars. You might call me a piece of cake who talks to much and lives like a pig
Yes, I can be a piggy radio cake.

Or maybe you were with me in Shiraz at some points in winter. We were walking in the street while I was looking for a fucking cafe-net in the middle of traditional bazaar. You said noting, just following me while you were bored. very bored. Walking 2 hours for Internet in a place full of carpets, hand crafts and eastern culture. You might call me stupid after I checked my email.
Yes, I am stupid. that's for sure.

Or perhaps you saw me once when I was passing by from you. It was Granville Island, you remember? Nice, Blondie, Bohemian Saturday mid day. you were on the floor completely high with you niddle in your hand. I came near by and told you man, do u want a cigar?
You thought I am Jesus Christ while I had a big big hate in my heart.

And you might be my love, bump to each other in train. I might take your hand while you are telling me "forget it, Ali"
Who is Ali?