Mixed metaphors

I’m neither worm nor tiger; neither flesh nor fowl.
Not wholly cheese or purely chalk. I’m neither lark nor owl.
Not Mozart or Metallica. Don’t see in black or white.
I’m neither here nor there. Not quite in darkness, or the light.
I’m neither straight nor crooked. Not commonplace or rare.
Not hunting with the eager hounds, or running with the hare.
Coming or going – who can say? Do I push or pull?
Charged positive or negative? Half empty, or half full?
Not Lance or Bradley, Maître Jacques or Raymond Poulidor.
Not maillot jaune or lanterne rouge. No less, and nothing more.
I’ve lost myself. I don’t know where I am, or where I’ve been.
I’m north-north-west and south-south-east and all points in between.
One moment following my nose, the next chasing my tail.
I’m EasyJet and Concorde, Deutsche Bahn and British Rail.
All hearing without listening. All looking without seeing.
Whatever gets me through the day. Just doing. Never being.