by Lynn Emanuel

    Right now as I am talking to you and as you are being talked

    to， without letup， it is becoming clear that gertrude stein has

    hijacked¹ me and that this feeling that you are having now as

    you read this， that this is what it feels like to be inside

    gertrude stein. This is what it feels like to be a huge type——

    writer in a dress. Yes， I feel we have gotten inside gertrude

    stein， and of course it is dark inside the enormous gertrude， it

    is like being locked up in a refrigerator lit only by a smiling

    rind of cheese. Being inside gertrude is like being inside a

    monument made of a cloud which is always moving across

    the sky which is also always moving. Gertrude is a huge gal-

    leon of cloud anchored to the ground by one small tether， yes，

    I see it down there， do you see that tiny snail² glued to the

    tackboard of the landscape？ That is alice. So， I am inside

    gertrude； we belong to each other， she and I， and it is so won-

    derful because I have always been a thin woman inside of

    whom a big woman is screaming to get out， and she's out

    now and if a river could type this is how it would sound， pure

    and complicated and enormous. Now we are lilting across the

    countryside， and we are talking， and if the wind could type it

    would sound like this， ongoing³ and repetitious， abstracting

    and stylizing everything， like our famous haircut painted by

    Picasso. Because when you are inside our haircut you under-

    stand that all the flotsam and jetsam of hairdo have been

    cleared away （like the forests from the New World） so that the

    skull⁴ can show through grinning and feasting on the alarm it

    has created. I am now， alarmingly， inside gertrude's head and I

    am thinking that I may only be a thought she has had when

    she imagined that she and alice were dead and gone and

    someone had to carry on the work of being gertrude stein， and

    so I am receiving， from beyond the grave， radioactive isotopes⁵

    of her genius saying， take up my work， become gertrude stein.

    Because someone must be gertrude stein， someone must save

    us from the literalists and realists， and narratives⁶ of the

    beginning and end， someone must be a river that can type.

    And why not I？ Gertrude is insisting on the fact that while I

    am a subgenius， weighing one hundred five pounds， and living

    in a small town with an enormous furry⁷ male husband who is

    always in his Cadillac Eldorado driving off to sell something

    to people who do not deserve the bad luck of this mer-

    chandise in their lives——that these facts would not be a prob-

    lem for gertrude stein. Gertrude and I feel that， for instance， in

    Patriarchal Poetry when （like an avalanche⁸ that can type） she is

    burying the patriarchy， still there persists a sense of con-

    descending⁹ affection. So， while I'm a thin， heterosexual sub-

    genius， nevertheless gertrude has chosen me as her tool， just

    as she chose the patriarchy as a tool for ending the patriarchy.

    And because I have become her tool， now， in a sense， gertrude

    is inside me. It's tough. Having gertrude inside me is like

    having swallowed an ocean liner that can type， and， while I

    feel like a very small coat closet with a bear in it， gertrude and

    I feel that I must tell you that gertrude does not care. She is

    using me to get her message across， to say， I am lost， I am

    beset¹⁰ by literalists and narratives of the beginning and middle

    and end， help me. And so， yes， I say， yes， I am here， gertrude，

    because we feel， gertrude and I， that there is real urgency in

    our voice （like a sob¹¹ that can type） and that things are very

    bad for her because she is lost， beset by the literalists and

    realists， her own enormousness crushing her and we must

    find her and take her into ourselves， even though I am the

    least likely of saviors and have been chosen perhaps as a last

    resort， yes， definitely， gertrude is saying to me， you are the

    least likely of saviors， you are my last choice and my last

    resort.

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