"Desire not to command;
desire not to create;
desire not to destroy;
desire not to explore,
why,
then,
desire to survive?"
...inquired the Ensconced Suburban Ignoramus.
Peekaboo?
Last night, over the phone, Cindi told me that her Coke was looking at her. I didn’t ask how an aluminum can might’ve sprouted an eyeball. Instead, like any protective beau, I threatened it. “Quit looking at my girlfriend!” I shouted. “She’s waaaay outta your league! And besides, you don’t exist to… to ogle your consumer! You have one job: Contain!” The can offered neither appeal nor apology. So, through clenched teeth, I issued this warning: “Keep it up, buster, and I’ll crush you flat under my shoe!” In sooth, I said none of that. What I actually said was, “What?” Cindi told me to “never mind.” But I pressed her and, finally, she disclosed what I thought I heard her say. Was the eyeball, I asked, giving her an inquisitive look? The famed " evil " or " stink " eye, perhaps? Might it be a look of surprise? Or fear? No, she told me. It was merely looking at her, with no particular look. “Ah. Well. Good !” I said. “Gives me something to jot down