CRISPY JOURNEYS INTO, I THINK, THE GARDEN OF EARTHLY DELIGHTFUL FUTURE PAST

We are close, but I fear when we become too close. Thank God for the inter-punct ( • ) which was invented so many centuries ago that you start to spin when you think about it. Not you, I mean. Anyone.

(What’s so special about you is that anytime one says “you” they mean “anyone” but if they knew you they would say “anybody but you.” That can be good, or that cannot be. P.S. I love "you." Thee.)

You look at things so differently that people cannot expect anything from you. What I mean is they cannot expect the typical things that people expect from others. They really CAN expect ANYTHING from you. They can’t expect anything from everybody else. Just you. Usually people don’t want anything from, well, you. It’s no joke that they are really not looking for it. They want just a little something. Not a lot of anything. Tiny bits. More can be a problem. I’ve seen people run really fast. "Hey, everything's ginchy!" I cry, "Come back!"

It’s fun to be afraid!

And so as you walk down the crowded street and people are bumping and jostling about you can tell that no one is running into you. The interpunct • saves you. It is a little black iota of space that separates you from everyone else. That can be good. It is not, however, a punctuation mark that I care for. It makes our true love grammatical, and impossible. But thank God, at least, we are still alive. And thank God we have our space. I thank Grammar for that. Anyone would. But not you. You thank you. I like the way you defy. Please come home.