I am a body of scars- organs, limbs and scars. Each affects the others and works towards its own purpose. And if that purpose isn't consequent with the body's purpose, that organ, limb or scar is defective. Therefore, to the best of my ability, I decapitate, castrate, lobotomise, gnaw off, blow away, excrete, bleed, milk, divorce, evict, exorcize them. I will not have a defect destroy my whole body. I claim only to say that what I say is right to me, at the time of writing, at the time of speaking, at the time of thought even. Every iteration after that is mired by the context of the new, the context of the present; where the original concrete idea now is dispersed into an ether of comprehending that idea's context, and the branches this leads to. I am upturning stones and finding worms. I am taking paths where I am following something that appears to be heading straight forward, in a directional sense, but in a physical sense is on a tangent, or parallel, or mirrored and heading into myself. My first step forwards was the step inwards towards myself. I am equipping myself with the body of me, and I give you plane: The Personal Structure.