letter 01.20.02
well, my sugar angel, what the fuck will we talk about next time. i haven't waited for inspiration. i've just sat me at the kitchen table someone made more than a 100 years ago. if the information could be read in the wood. it wouldn't tell us much. 'sept after belonging to german families for several generations, it now belongs to a canadian.
how does a master of a few desserts keep from getting fat.
one more little test.
fuck me, is that a fuckin' good brownie. i might have to give the secret to the world. but the sugar. the fat. so dreadful. and you can't beat them. as find a breakfast as any kid's sugar cereal.
i'm a dyke with a dick.
i want your ass in my face.
off into the jungle we will run.
to further investigate the case.
after grandpa came back to tell me things i'd forgotten. and we are beasts. this we must also fail to forget. like the wolverine, the rabbit and wolf. restrain the urges that make you want to go out and kill. ween said it. so what to do with these urges.
slaughter tomatoes to make a salad.
brutally smash in the brain of a fish, cut off its head, rip out its guts. leave the head on for low violence days.
i knew a guy who liked getting his ass kicked. sometimes he took pretty serious beatings. they are easy to get. just call a stupid, ugly prick a dog fucker or mother. with a drunk friend to help kick.
a fat fuck wanted a confrontation with me today. only because i was anyone not of his approval. i thought he would be surprised if i drove my hand with intent to kill, up under his jaw. but my arm ain't good. and if he got on top of me, i'd be wait. maybe something happened to the brownies.
i love you.
_duck stop_
this is written on paper, my angel, ask and it's yours.
give it to one of your grandchildren. the first to ask. tell no one you have it until it is over.
the bibles of the ages reveal their truths to the non-believer. religion is a refrigerator for information transfer over the generations.
most of it is simply backwards.
you are an angel.
love john rah
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