Dear Bernard

Dear Bernard,
I trust you are well, dear brother, and looking forward to meeting up with us once more in a few weeks’ time. However, although your visit is now imminent, I felt I had to write to you beforehand to make you aware of a few developments which have taken place over here in Adelaide since we last saw you.
The last time you came over, I felt that you bonded really well with Otis, who was still only five at the time, moreso than with Poppy, who was then seven (you were always a man’s man). However, since that time we gradually became aware that Otis had become a little subdued and withdrawn, far more than was normal for him; he had always been a very sociable and outgoing little boy, as you know. We also noticed that he began to play with Poppy’s dolls quite a lot, instead of his own football or Lego. And even more lately, he has really taken an interest in clothes and dressing up, particularly in wigs.

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The Vessel

As a child I was restless, forever on the move, and always changing.  I say, as a child. At first, I was only a twinkling in the eye of an idea. I became a formulation in her mind; then a creation, and finally a manipulation forged by my mother’s aspiration and vision. As a sculptor and potter, she did her best to form me in her image and her imagination. From the mound of her swollen appetite, I first became the subject, and then the object, of her desire.

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