Regarding Elizabeth Bruenig:
A theater in the round is not a panopticon
— Forensic Zillowologist (@agraybee) September 15, 2018
Puts me in the mind of:
Well, up the stairs ran Frankie Lee
With a soulful, bounding leap
And, foaming at the mouthHe began to make his midnight creep
For sixteen nights and days he raved
But on the seventeenth he burst
Into the arms of Judas Priest
Which is where he died of thirstNo one tried to say a thing
When they took him out in jest
Except, of course, the little neighbor boy
Who carried him to rest
And he just walked along, alone
With his guilt so well concealed
And muttered underneath his breath
“Nothing is revealed”Well, the moral of the story
The moral of this song
Is simply that one should never be
Where one does not belong
So when you see your neighbor carryin’ somethin’
Help him with his load
And don’t go mistaking Paradise
For that home across the road