I know a way to insert my thoughts into your head, to worm my wriggling apparitions past your naked eardrums. I will draw the curtains that veil my self-portraits, and open my dream closet to reveal hidden pantomimes. The agents of my revelations are inconspicuous and shy, so ordinary that you might think my thoughts were actually yours. You must listen because you can’t stop your ears; you can’t do a blessed thing to prevent it.