Who am I--the mouth that ate itself?

"Often when I'm alone and it is raining and the wind is blowing, or when I'm on my own at night and the moon is shining down on the land, I can hear the many voices gone, the many voices now living, the many voices to come, all singing to me in whispers. At times like those I feel I am just about to catch the tune, the rhythm, and the theme of the music I have always longed to write. But it drifts away, carried on the waves of the wind. I seize pen and paper to write down the messages of the voices before they are carried away by the wind."