Dearest lady of whom I know so much up-close but so little from afar, indeed, there has been such a limited distance between us, ever since I moved in, that to be quite honest, I do not know your full complexion, nor the look in your eyes or the posture of your physique. Who, you might ask yourself, could be at once so close and so intimate, yet not know my face, the gaze in my eyes or the characteristics of my figure? Well, as I mentioned, I moved in some time ago, and this might be the best hint to give, since I quite literally moved in a fortnight ago.
It was a dreadful night, when the wind plucked me from my evening supper and carried me away over the tops of trees and the roofs of houses. The world below me, as I flew, blown by the wind, was a dark and cold place and I had not only lost my appetite due to the way the air travel had crunched my stomach, I was about to say goodbye to my dear life, knowing for sure, that soon I would be flung dead against a wall, tree trunk or some similar solid surface. But to my surprise, fate dealt me a different card, and I was sucked by a friendly draft into the room where you lay asleep. By sheer miracle, indeed, I landed in your beard, that has ever since harbored me from further flight, as well as provided me with primary needs and, oh lucky me, a wonderful array of spectacle, as I have been sitting front-row to your performances, may it be from the point of view of your own perspective, rather than that of the spectators who so generously come to see and admire you. So this is, as you may surely understand, my good reason for writing this letter. Here I am- please don’t scratch – high up on your chin, comfortably housed between the many warm and soft hairs that so gracefully decorate your jaw.
There is the phenomenon of the flea in the ear, a position many a dear cousin of mine has occupied and performed with the utmost sense of duty. And there is the lice in the hide, I believe common in the Northern countries, where a hide is logically important in keeping one warm, that even lice hide inside, as comfortable parasites of both warmth and the blood of its barer. Adding to this tradition, is my own present occupation, as a bug in the beard. What lovely turn of luck, I dare say, that I, mere bug, have become the fortunate inhabitant of such an excellent and furthermore famous and beloved beard! And impatiently I wait every day’s moments where countless people admire my habitat as a phenomenon worth crowding around. It is much like the privilege of living in a castle which attracts the attention of people from all over the world, marveling at its architecture and idyllic setting. And for this spectacle of magnificence, and my sheer blessing, for inhabiting this very same subject of admiration, set onto, what must be a wonderful face on top of what promises to be a admirable body, I have to thank not only the cosmic grace of God, but you dear lady – thank you.
Kind regards from the bug in your beard.
[text written for a performance of Chiara Fumai. Picture: Chiara Fumai as Annie Jones]