Perhaps you've noticed a bit of a lapse in Dick Fancy's contributions to .blogspot.com; perhaps you haven't. We don't know who you are, and you hardly know us. I mean, you just barely know us. You know what we allow you to know. We curate ourselves for your sake, maybe even for our own sake. We are mysteries to each other, you and I. We are mysteries to ourselves. We are distant spectres of people we'd like to believe we knew or know but will never really, not really, not truly, not in the way our deepest, darkest, wormiest parts would really like, were we to admit them to ourselves, were we to take full advantage of their desires. Things haven't been easy for us, of late, and we've been forced to step back a bit, do some editing, and some good hard thinking about our place in the world, as men with long beards who also maintain a blog in the plural first-person narrative. We understand and acknowledge that we haven't always presented ourselves in this way, but things have clarified themselves in the fits and spurts that things sometimes do, and so now we come to you as a host of aforementioned bearded men--men with love in their hearts, and springs in their steps--and we ask that you embrace us with all you're willing to give. Why give anything less than your fullest selves, after all? Give us one good solid reason, and we'll let you off the hook! Come on! Let's us release our hardest darkness, our worms, our dogged ambitions, to the dust of stars, to all that falling carbon, and give ourselves to each other; shall we? Shan't we? There's a song in our heads, but we won't share it with you. Not yet. You're still looking a bit squirrelly out there, a bit timid. And that's okay. We'll be here waiting, waiting until we tire of all this endless, fruitless waiting (you beasts) and move on to other things which will likely be somewhat more enjoyable. Probably, they will involve baking a nice cake.
Based off of an old photo of our Grandmother, who, by mysterious circumstances that have still not been revealed to us (big family secret), was part zebra.
Self-portrait; pen and ink.
