Come Hither.

Ever elusive kudos.



These are the thoughts that go through my head in my room on a Sunday afternoon when I have the house to myself and I'm not expending all that energy on fighting with a boyfriend.

Is he the one that I will marry? Why is it so hard to be objective about myself? Why do I feel cellularly alone? Am I supposed to live in this crazy city? Can blindly continued fear-induced regurgitated life-denying tradition be overcome?

Where does the money that I send to those in need go? If we have so much, why do some people have nothing still? Why do I feel frantic when I first wake up in the morning? Why do you say you are spiritual yet you treat people like shit?

How can you say you're close to God and yet you talk behind my back as though I am not a part of you? Why do I say I'm fine when it's obvious I'm not? Why is it so hard to tell you what I want? Why can't you just read my mind?

Why do I fear that the quieter I am, the less you will listen? Why do I care whether you like me or not? Why is it so hard for me to be angry? Why is it such work to stay conscious and so easy to get stuck, and not the other way around?

Will I ever move back to somewhere else? Can I be with a lover with whom I am a student and a master? Why am I encouraged to shut my mouth when it gets too close to home? Why can't I live in the moment?


But that's why birds do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it. In Spain, the best upper sets do it, Lithuanians and Letts do it. The Dutch in old Amsterdam do it, not to mention the Finns. Folks in Siam do it - think of Siamese twins. Some Argentines, without means, do it. People say in Boston, even beans do it. Romantic sponges they say, do it. Oysters down in Oyster Bay do it. Cold Cape Cod clams, against their wish, do it. Even lazy jellyfish do it. Electric eels, I might add, do it, though it shocks them. I know, why ask if shads do it? Waiter, bring me shad roe.

In shallow shoals, English soles do it. Goldfish in the privacy of bowls, do it. The dragonflies in the reeds do it. Sentimental centipedes do it. Mosquitoes, heaven forbid, do it. So does every katydid do it. The most refined ladybugs do it. When a gentleman calls, moths in your rugs do it. What's the use of moth balls? Locusts in trees do it, bees do it, even overeducated fleas do it.


I'm reeling jubilation, triumphant in delight. I am at home in this high five, and I'm smiling for no reason. This state of ecstasy, this liberty wind in my face. And I'm giggling again for no reason.



Let's do it.
Let's fall in love.






Thank you, thank you, silence.






The melting of inhibition.