May cause drowsiness: day 16

“What age am I? What age now, exactly? That age? That age of. Rage or not rage. That age? Can you say what age I am? Age of reason? Age of chance? Age and a half? What age am I now? What age are you look­ing for, sir or madam or whichever you prefer? You prefer me? Oh, me. What age do you want me to be? What age? Can I play every age? No. Can I play any age? Yes. I can be all ages. Shall I be the age of a sweet baby sleek babe sweet baby or babe baby babe baby maybe or maybe not baby? Baby? Or I could appear as a wide-eyed inno­cent child turned wild-eyed less inno­cent child turned wild child seen it done it been there and all and wilder and wilder and split child torn ripped child? Sorry? Asun­der? Asun­der, then. Maybe you want me as a ram­pa­ging teen: ram­pa­ging hor­mones, ram­pa­ging moods, ram­pa­ging skin and body and sought hands and feet and other places? You shouldn’t. You do? No, that never, will never. Would never do. Older? Wiser? Worldly or not seen so much of? Twen­ties, the whole wide world? Two oh one and two and three and more. Or twenty more. No more. More and more and more and again again again. Jump­ing in and out of. Lie down, get up. Skin and bod­ies and don’t look down, look up. Look up and at. Not down. Look and look and look. Is this what you want? This the age you want? Is this it? This it? This is it, sir or madam or whichever you prefer. Don’t touch. But maybe touch and noth­ing else. And switch on. Turn. As if I have a switch to turn on. Turn me on. Just there. There. Like that. No, not like that. Do I have a switch? Why should I? I’m real. As real as you are. Skin and bone and shit and piss and swal­low and excrete and cells within cells within yet more cells within a single cell. I can blink and mouth and lick and whis­per and arms and legs and hands and feet and grow up, grow up and out and grow everything every­where, every­where else, for every­one else, for you and me and him and her and breasts and but­tocks and cock and cunt and teeth and nose and breathe. What? What? What? Yes, I heard. I’m here. I can hear. Yes, ears to listen and learn. That’s how it goes on from now until, but harden­ing and wrink­ling and leath­er­ing and weak­en­ing until then. So does this age match? This age of me? Of mine? Of yours and all yours? All yours, sir or madam or whichever you prefer, whatever you desire, who­ever you want me to be. I’m all yours. l’m all yours. I’m all yours for a moment or for a year but no longer, no longer, and no one else, and no one else’s.”