There’s an expression: “My mind is like a bad neighborhood; you don’t want to go in there alone.” In this neighborhood, the road signs are upside down or backwards; the street moves like a river; the house windows are where the doors are supposed to be. The doors are stuck and can only be opened by electric keys, patience, strained memory and a little help; people may speak only indirectly and by leaving notes in your mailbox; and no one knows your real name. Each constituent hopes to become the queen and knows there will be thousands and thousands of bees. Everyone stands in the same direction, wobbling up and down in unison while searching for the end of the river that never comes, and all the residents are tickled pink to be there together.

There’s an expression: “My mind is like a bad neighborhood; you don’t want to go in there alone.” In this neighborhood, the road signs are upside down or backwards; the street moves like a river; the house windows are where the doors are supposed to be. The doors are stuck and can only be opened by electric keys, patience, strained memory and a little help; people may speak only indirectly and by leaving notes in your mailbox; and no one knows your real name. Each constituent hopes to become the queen and knows there will be thousands and thousands of bees. Everyone stands in the same direction, wobbling up and down in unison while searching for the end of the river that never comes, and all the residents are tickled pink to be there together.

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