My eyes were closed and I was in this narrow half gap between the back of one thing and the back of another. I thought of the hard dirty sand at the far end and how it looked half round and half hard, each shape sticking out of the other. I didn’t know what that meant, and I remembered this as if I had been here before, half asleep or completely in and then out, in this only the day before and years on. I tried to turn my head out of that, remembering this secret half world that isn’t secret at all but a portal from one thing to the next, the jumping off point of the thing of me here and the thing of me there. It seems that what I’m trying to do is take what I know from each, knowing that isn’t allowed, that it is probably illegal, indeed against the laws of thinking, the rules that keep me human, beyond being stupid, believing this is actually where my head might live. I can only escape for so long and I know I will only come back to here and find that I never left. It seems like that anyway.
Of course I like dykes themselves. They don’t scare me a bit. But stories about dykes bore the bejesus out of me. I just can’t put myself in their shoes. Well really, darling. I knew damn well I’d never be a movie actor. It’s too hard; and if you’re intelligent, it’s too embarrassing. The mean reds are horrible.You’re afraid and you feel like hell, but you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Except something bad is going to happen, only you don’t know what it is. Of course I haven’t anything against whores. Except this: some of them may have an honest tongue, but they all have dishonest hearts. (All quotes excerpted from Truman Capote’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Vintage Publishing, pages 21, 38, 40 & 82; images from the ancient Lycian cities of Aphrodisias & Priene in Turkey)