The owl says that WordPress says that if you want people to read you,  you go read them and then comment with charm, enthusiasm, and sympathy so that they will be flattered enough to click on your profile to see who you are.    Then, you will develop, like Jesus and the Grateful Dead,  followers.

As an odalisque of course I want to be gazed upon.  But the odalisque’s appeal is her sequestration.  She is couched in exquisite seclusion.  She is come-to, arrived-at.  She does not prowl or solicit.  She reclines in recumbent expectancy, like a saint awaiting the ecstasy of her god.

My scrapbook is something you–stumbled upon?

Cyberflaneur, how have you found me?  I am at a distance from the world.  I have nothing to offer but the sensuousness of my presence.  There is no gain in me because I have distanced myself from all that is gainful.  Will you come without motives of your own ascendancy?  Without sycophancy?  Will you come, then come again, delighting, quite simply, in me?

Why do I secret my scrapbook in a social sphere?

I have sequestered myself in this essentially inaccessible obelisk to unearth in my impossible-to-relieve state of  expectancy, what it is I wait for.  What is it I want as I gaze out windows that are not doors that men can open and close and journey towards?

The owl’s lids slowly shutter owl’s eyes.

When I wake up hours later, I see two yellow lanterns shine from a boat far out at sea.

Owl is still on the window-sill.  Eyes open.  Watching me.

–The Odalisque