Battle your fire to startled birds. Welcome to the Blind By-Pak Kest. I'd like to begin

this week's podcast by reading a poem that was sent to me by Hollywood actor Merrill

Streep and this poem is called Conversation with My Postman. I'd like to give you a hair

cut with my teeth. You can go to a proper barber afterwards and get your hair fixed, but

first just let me bite your hair. I'll start with the fringe, really chowice and

crop your scalp like I'm a big bland gourd. Don't look at me like this.

So what if I like the taste of other people's hair? What makes you so perfect that you

can judge me? Hair doesn't have nerves or feelings only at the road. I just like a nice

mouthful of another person's hair cut to chew it a little bit, feel the resistance

of their curls against my teeth to savor the memory of their shampoo, the enzymes of my

saliva cutting through the aisle, what edgy you. You're a man in your 50s I'd say. I

can see a wilting above your forehead. The strands of what was once an ar-burned fire

is now a few twigs in a styroling nest. Time makes its supper or your hair every day.

Let poor old Merrill's dream have her dinner. I've never heard anybody by biting their hair,

and it's almost consensual. It's not like I want to eat a child's hair cut. I don't want

to chew the hair and the head of a child. You brought that up not me. I only want to eat the hair

of an adult who lets me do it to them. So how about it? Okay, and do you have any

post for me? Are you just going to stand there? A parcel. Good day. Thank you, Merrill's

dream for that poem, which was called Conversation with my Postman. Hope you all had a charming

week. It's near the end of March now. Days are getting longer. Temperatures getting higher.

Last week was the first day I didn't have to wear a jacket when I was on my bicycle.

Nice airy sensation. This week I'm going to answer your questions. I was going to put out

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