The name imprinted into my existence, abbreviates my identity: Zan. 
As a fellow human being, I am as common as any other. I consume this planet alike many of my common folk and tire from the agony I have caused it.

Writing is more than a feeble expression, to me; to me, writing is a vice and a ventilation of linguistic proportions. It is the very thing which hinders my endeavors in a suit, halting my productivity, yet it settles my soul. I don't mind tying myself to the realm of words, but I cannot help but admit to the pain of which I have caused our planet. I wish to alter
 the course of our tendencies; I wish to save our planet, our worlds, and our people. However, I am but one man amidst the cryptic pages of our existence. I am but one entity with commonplace ideals and a feisty, yet subtle, attitude.