Someday, not too far, I will cut my head off. kindly and smoothly. And I'll put it in a bag and take the first bus to the desert. Then I'll leave the head there and will come back. not looking at what is left behind. At the city, people will stare at me and point fingers. but I don't care. I have no goddamn head to care. Then after a while they will get used to me. "here she comes, the headless woman", they would say. Or "the headless woman's cat has died". I might get used to myself as well. I still wonder though whether me or the rotten head in the bag in middle of nowhere is ME. well... it doesn't seem like the perfect time to think about that either, I am not in possession of any head to be able to think. and that's the good part