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before us and dishonour the faith. A dramatic opinion, but an opinion
the same. An attempt now to make right, not to enthrall or defame. An
opinion piece, one after another. Laid fat from feast, one after another.
A man is nothing more than what others claim he is, so speak clear and
ill of me and so it will be. The grating sound of my voice. The yellowing
of my teeth. Speak up. Speak clear. Speak ill of me. I found myself awake
last night. May the players take their place, repeat their lines exactly
to my public disgrace. The years exaggerate how horrible it was to be
stricken silent with no e xplanation for the cause. I can’t be the only one
losing sleep over things I should or shouldn’t have done. They are the
rope around the neck. They are the blade pressed to the wrist. It might
seem detrimental, but it’s meaningless. Left to my own devices, I am
strange. I’m a liar—entertained. I am no one to be reviled. I am no one to
be admired. Jumping rope at the end of the street, I am everyone, and
everyone is me.
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