From the Arrondissement of Subjectivity

Here in my neighborhood we have potters and poets. There are librarians too. And elephants that have been rescued from circuses. And there are no political prisoners; no one is held without trial or force fed. There are no drones for killing civilians; spies are encouraged to adopt an interest in horticulture. We are wholly naive over here. We don’t care if you say so. We can live with ourselves.

Living with ourselves means we understand human beings are each a multiple geography–inside we are many people. More confusing is our capacity for capricious and manifold states of mind. We know this. Sometimes when we wish to be brave we make cowardly choices and other times we’re surprisingly tough and daring. We can be dashing and lazy in the same hour. We keep our eyes on the general good which makes us honest but assures disappointment. The self is a problem, like a hanging bell.

We know the newspaper is fit only for wrapping fish. (Mallarme) We know our best thoughts are smooth as birds’ eggs.