Picture a room in the shape of a pentagon, with a band at every corner… each playing a different kind of music. You go from stage to stage, dancing with different people, changing costumes like a mad actor trying to play every part. With every song, every dance, you are further away from the noise. Edging towards the middle, you end up half dressed, wearing different shoes, hair in tangles, by yourself, in the middle, away from the lights, trying hard to harmonize with the music that was once so clear, separate but clear, and now it’s just tumbling, twisting, turning, an ice skater spinning, blind to the darkness that has settled in. Cold… cold… alone in the middle.

Chapter Excerpt:



To my Naked Capricorn: Everyone in my life groans when I ask them to tell me something profound, except for you. In fact, you are the unique exception to everything in my life, and what is ‘comical’ is that most don’t believe you exist, and many times I think that maybe you really don’t. You flipped my seemingly bold concept on its head and said, ASK me something profound. So here goes: what’s the point of ever getting dressed?