along the brittle treacherous bright streets
of memory comes my heart,singing like
an idiot,whispering like a drunken man
“Most of us have love in our lives. Most of us love other people and are ourselves loved by others.
But make no mistake: you are alone in the world. You were born alone, even if you were born conjoined. And you die alone, unable to bring a single person with you.
Self-pity means waiting for that man with the glass slipper that perfectly fits your foot to knock on your door. Self-pity is waiting to be bottle-fed your dinner.”
annnnnnd my last gift for you today (this is what I sing to my old people):