Abstract
I lived with old Aunt Censorship for years. I was so close to her that I could see the pores in the skin on her face. I have known intimately the strange fears she engenders. I have grown accustomed to looking behind her back to see whether she's holding a cane, a pistol, or a piece of candy. Auntie and I have known each other so long I feel obliged to say at least something good about her as well. Of course she's a sadistic old maid. Her womb is utterly barren, yet her desire for children, and for everything that lives and is playful, is all the more powerful. She is obsessed with a mania for bringing order to things — and her order leads to the graveyard. Of course she calls it education, not interment. And I must admit that she has something to teach us.