A Rose by Another Name

They asked me why I wrote in English. I couldn’t say. One never knows… I like to put on this costume, perhaps that’s the reason. To turn into someone else. A pantomime villain with a villain moustache, cape and hollow laughter. Or a stoic peasant leaning on his spade, watching his leaping goats. Perhaps a damsel in distress, an exotic dancer, a negro delta blues picker, spy, whore, pirate, king… Ancient, burlesque, crazy, angry, clownish… or all at once. It’s dangerous. Therefore, it’s nice. However, at times, I don’t like the straight jacket it represents. Then I want to flap my arms and howl with frustrated rage. Get back to my own planet, if there is such a thing. Maybe I don’t like to write in a foreign language at all. Perhaps I shouldn’t. One gets tired.