čīkstuļa pieraksti

"First you bite your fingernails. And then you comb your hair
again. And then you wait. And wait.

(They say, you know, that first you lie. And then you steal,
they say. And then, they say, you kill.)

Then the doorbell rings. Then Peg drops in. And Bill. And
Jane. And Doc.
And first you talk, and smoke, and hear the news and have a
drink. Then you walk down the stairs.

And you dine, then, and go to a show after that, perhaps, and
after that a night spot, and after that come home again, and
climb the stairs again, and go to bed.
But first Peg argues, and Doc replies. First you dance the same
dance and you drink the same drink you always drank before.

And the piano builds a roof of notes above the world.
And the trumpet weaves a dome of music through space. And
the drum makes a ceiling over space and time and night.
And then the table-wit. And then the check. Then home again
to bed.

But first, the stairs.
And do you now, baby, as you climb the stairs, do you still
feel as you felt back there?
Do you feel again as you felt this morning? And the night
before? And then the night before that?

(They say, you know, that first you hear voices. And then
you have visions, they say. Then, they say, you kick and
scream and rave.)

Or do you feel: What is one more night in a lifetime of nights?
What is one more death, or friendship, or divorce out of two,
or three? Or four? Or five?
One more face among so many, many faces, one more life
among so many million lives?

But first, baby, as you climb and count the stairs (and they
total the same), did you, sometime or somewhere, have a
different idea?

Is this, baby, what you were born to feel, and do, and be?"

(Kenneth Fearing)