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My name is Max Fine. I am captain of the vessel "MAX II". I am sitting in my state room as I type this, no wait, I am standing as my servant Pootsa cleans and oils my cherry wood sitting chair. My current quest is to discover the legendary lost oyster bed of the Bering Strait. However, due to a faulty compass and rusty sextant, my First Mate, Patsy has been taking readings off the moon which has led us slighty astray, somewhere in the vicinity of Long Beach. I am anchored next to a naval destroyer which is continually inquiring about the status of my cannons. I have instructed my crew to stop throwing fruit at the hull of the naval ship. Nevertheless the ships captain continually asks of our intentions. I will continue to trim my toenails and drink quinine in a defiant manner so that my crew does not suspect my deep seated terror. Et tu Brutus? Where for art thou Romeo?!? These answers I have not for thee. But If I had to make my best guess: 1. Yes 2. Over hereI happen to be tired of being a man. I happen to enter tailorshops and moviehouses withered, impenetrable, like a felt swan navigating in a water of sources and ashes.The smell of barbershops makes me wail. I want only a filling of intuition and thought, I want only not to see establishments or gardens, or merchandise, or eyeglasses, or elevators.I happen to be tired of my feet and my nails and my hair and my shadow. I happen to be tired of being a man.Never the less it would be delightful to startle a notary with a cut lily or kill a nun with a blow to the ear. It would be lovely to go through the streets with a sexy knife and shouting untill I froze to death.I dont want to become a root in the dark, vacillating, streched out, shivering with sleep, downward, in the soaked guts of the earth, absorbing and thinking, eating each day.