john rah letter to

dear marlin

i woke this morning at 6 and read for a couple hours. it will be very hot today. i took a longer walk today than usual. and walked places i've never walked. and the river which i've lived near for 12 years has kissed my feet. not in submission. but i to her. i've thought of you a few times over the years but didn't know until today that i would write to you.

lilies grow in the river now. fish are abundant. 6 just jumped in front of me when i looked up. silver in the morning sun. perhaps not wearing shoes has reminded me of you. it seems a strange thing that we as human animals, have separated our beliefs from the life we are a very small part of. we have tried to make ourselves holier than life. which is simply stupid.

i watched you sometimes. like i knew i knew you and could see your, whatever it is. once i was a little surprised to see you as you might be after many trips around the sun. skin was old, like a grandmother. and your eyes still with a fire.

though they struggle to keep and gain more power, the time of the priests is coming to an end. their empire is as all empires. someone, not unlike your humble narrator, scratches out a few proclamations about how it is. and it sounds good and true. or it is well promoted until it gains cult stattis. when a cult has enough followers, it petitions to the political forces, promising obedience from its members. and another religion becomes officially accepted. the previous religions or cults of the land are quickly gobbled up and you get a big mess of confusion, panic, war and then the next one.

ignorance allows it to happen again and again.

the end times are already here. not for the world, but for the priest who stol the power. the pope, for example, is what our friend jimmy christmas came to abolish.

and ducks are cool. i like the females.

anywhore. i want you to write. not for me, for those who come after us.

_duck stop_

i love the moon. it makes no sense to feel love for a ball of rock. or ball of fire.

my religion is chance. like a simily on the wind, not waiting, just being till the next thing is hit.

i remember well sitting beside you on that grand piano, turning pages for you while you played for the young christians to sing to. i still don't think it was sexual. i was glad to be in your

letter 01.10.02