. . . am not my cage

. . . I’ve looked at it as an intellectual challenge, trying to feed you a line about a life spent coloring inside the lines. Though (I must confess) it often gave me trouble – balancing between the utterly conventional and, I hoped, the interestingly fringey – trying to cover both coasts, as it were.

I think I often erred on the side of caution.  One does.  The truly conventional always seem a little more loose in their interpretation of the conventions.  Haven’t you noticed the same?  I wonder why that it is.

Because the social decencies are natural to them, I suppose, and fit easy on them.

I did think my funeral pigeons a clever invention and hoped I’d get some mileage with them.  But had to let them go, worried I’d blow my cover with too much emphasis on the caged, the escape, and the darker side of life. . . .


[story: “a fiction: True Confessions“]

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