The clitoris of the female hyena is the largest of all mammals-sez Kenneth Rexroth--forgot where he found that but it wasn't Henry David Thoreau. Speaking of females, I wish too discourse on my muse. I've heard her voice only once but she regularly spikes my dreams with humor.

I imagine her as a woman. As noted, I regularly lean on them for help--it started with my mother. More on her later. On my first breakdown, after I dared a garbage truck to run over me, I ran to Madison Square and sat on a bench screaming mostly obscenities. Then I heard voices, hilarously laughing--they urged me to kill myself--I was a huge joke to them. I thought them women liberationists out to whack this male chauvinist. Such were the times. I was a great, great, joke.

I walked and walked.Night fell. I blistered my feet after discarding my shoes. I hunted for the Garden of Eden so I could start anew, but I had no luck. I climbed the fence into scenic Grammery Park and sat on a bench but nothing happened so I climbed back out. Eden must be Washington Square Park I surmised so I traveled there.,this time throwing away my bankroll. No luck. I couldn't even buy my way to, if not heaven, to innocence.

Finally I went to my church at the time and got the minister to take me to Bellevue. It proved to be the next best thing to heaven. My muse has quite a sense of humor. She stopped the garbage truck six inches from my chest; but she is quite the prankster. I wouldn't have her any other way.