this isn't an email

"If we could fly, I could take you places. The treehouse 20 feet up with the spiral staircase and the tree through the middle that moved in the wind. I could show you where it was where I laid down in the road, lost and frozen in the snow and rain, and I could show you where the best blackberry bushes are and the gravestone that my sister likes to lay on. I saw this dance last night, this crazy beautiful and angry dance, with crashing and falling and a violin player in a shopping cart and businessmen with ladders for cars, and there was pulling and pushing and slamming into each other just like real life and music so loud it was uncomfortable, just like it is. And I want everyone to be able to move like that, to know the extent to which we can push our bodies, and to be able to express ourselves like that, just at any time, just on the street, Can you imagine what it would be like? If our responses to every little thing were opened up completely? and screaming and whistling and dancing and hollering, small movements and big ones, if we closed our eyes when we didn't want to look at someone any more. If this is what we did instead of words and expressions and little gestures? Yesterday I saw a girl who looked like I did once. She had a motorcycle helmet and quick strong gestures, sharp tough movements, threw her cigarette down on the table, drank her coffee black, looked out the window when her boyfriend wasn't across from her, slapped her elbowpit when he fed her a bit of cake - good as junk - and I slipped her a doris when I left. She is the only one I never made eye contact with, never said anything and never looked back. and I know I'll never see her again, and she'll probably hate doris."

'and I wanted' by Cindy Crabb from Doris: An Anthology of Zines and Other Stuff, 1991 - 2001