Song of Theodore

O my beloved—men and women—I come into your presence. It is night and I am alone and I come to you. I open the window of my room so that you may come in. I am a lover and I would touch you with the fingers of my hands. In my eyes a fire burns. The strength of my imaginings is beyond words to record. I see the loveliness in you that is hidden away. I take something from you. See, I embrace you. I take you in my arms and I run away.

I am alone in my room at night and in me is the spirit of the old priests. What cunning fingers I have. They make intricate designs on the white paper. See, the designs are words and sentences. I am not a priest but a lover, a new kind of lover, one who is of the flesh and not of the flesh. My cunning fingers are of the flesh. They are like me and I would make love always, to all people—men and women—here—in Chicago—in America—everywhere—always—forever—while my life lasts.

I am afraid. Do you not understand, O my beloved, that I am afraid? In me is the old inheritance. The fires that burn have not burned me. I have not suffered enough.

Now, my beloved, I am not pure and I dare not come to you. I run away and hide. I am a priest and my head is not shaven. I sit in my room and my doors are bolted. I tremble and am afraid.

It is then that you come to me, O my beloved. Men and women you crowd in upon me. Through the walls and the bolted doors you come crowding, hurrying. I was afraid and trembled, but I have become unafraid.

I cannot tell how many things there are that I understand. I understand all, everything. The words of the men and women who have come in to me are without meaning, but the air of my room has brought health to me.

I was determined to withdraw from the world, to be a priest with a shaven head. In fancy I saw myself go into the forest, into the dense silence. For days I lay like a stone in the midst of the silence.

My body was bathed in a cold stream. Again and again my body was bathed. The cold water ran over my body and chilled the warm blood that runs beneath the surface of the skin.

The inside of my body was made clean. My body was fed on the white meat of nuts that fell from the trees. I crunched the nuts with my white teeth. How powerful my body had become.

In the rain in the streets of my city I stood. My clothes were foul. In the woven cloth that covered my body the dust of my city had lodged. The dust of my civilization was in my soul. I was a murderer—a weeping prostitute standing by a wall. I was a strong man with strong arms. In a jail they had lodged me. I was one condemned to be hanged. There was filth on my shoes—my shoes were filthy.

It was night and I had come into my room. I was cold and my body trembled. I was afraid. The pencil was gripped in my cunning fingers. Words came. Over the paper my pencil ran—making the words—saying the words.

There is a song in the pencil that is held in my cunning fingers. Out—out—out—dear words. The words have saved me. There is rhythm in the pencil. It sings and swings. It sings a great song. It is singing the song of my life. It is bringing life in to me, into my close place.

Out—out—out—out of the room I go. I am become pure. To the homes of the people I go. Here in these words I am become a man. The passions and lusts of men have taken hold of me.

I have gone into the woman's chamber, into the secret places of all women and all men I have gone. I have made love to them. Before me in the chamber lies the naked body of a woman. She is strong and young.

Do you not see, O my beloved, that I am become strong to caress the woman! I caress all men and all women. I make myself naked. I am unafraid. I am a pure thing. I bind and heal. By the running of the pencil over the white paper I have made myself pure. I have made myself whole. I am unafraid. The song of the pencil has done it.

What cunning fingers I have. They make intricate designs on the white paper. My cunning fingers are of the flesh. They are like me and I would make love always—to all people—men and women—here—in Chicago—in America—everywhere—always—forever—while my life lasts.