There Are Few Things In The World

I Am An Invisible Man. I Am A Man Of Substance, Of Flesh And Bone, Fiber And Liquids - And I Might Even Be Said To Possess A Mind. I Am Invisible, Understand, Simply Because People Refuse To See Me.

I Suddenly Recall The Arpeggios Of Laughter Lilting Across The Tender, Springtime Grass-gay-welling, Far-floating, Fluent, Spontaneous, A Bell-like Feminine Fluting, Then Suppressed; As Though Snuffed Swiftly And Irrevocably Beneath The Quiet Solemnity Of The Vespered Air Now Vibrant With Somber Chapel Bells.

I Am Invisible, Understand, Simply Because People Refuse To See Me. Like The Bodiless Heads You See Sometimes In Circus Sideshows, It Is As Though I Have Been Surrounded By Mirrors Of Hard, Distorting Glass. When They Approach Me They See Only My Surroundings, Themselves Or Figments Of Their Imagination, Indeed, Everything And Anything Except Me.

To Hell With Being Ashamed Of What You Liked.

You Start Saul, And End Up Paul,' My Grandfather Had Often Said. 'when You're A Youngun, You Saul, But Let Life Whup Your Head A Bit And You Starts To Trying To Be Paul - Though You Still Sauls Around On The Side.