back to letter 01.21.01

fuck. ich, oh, i just cut a very shallow cut on my wrists. no real damage. but it stings. with the fuckin' paper i'm writing on. dangerous stuff. es juckt. ce la va ce la vie. order so.

fuckin' jazz fucks my head.

i was going to tell you about the guy who dragged a knife across my neck. not everyone was white trash. some weren't white. it was a big party out at one of the little lakes. big fire and many teenagers. roll play. i'd used a free agent to explain gently about debts owed.

it was a real moment. i can see it and can even imagine the cold metal across my neck. i knew right away i wasn't about to die. he thought it pretty funny.

call off your hit man. man.

kids. them seem so fuckin' fiction. primates with high voltage brains. now if that ain't one fuckin' dangerous weapon.

we've got a hostile planet with neandrathals. we need it made safe, send in the brained, killer primates.

so yet another planet becomes a weapons farm.

_flower stop_

committed. this side of obsession. with black hole comfort calling the bunnie back. not a good thing with 7 brownies not meant to survive the day. i see me deciding against leaving the house. it would be a case of hoping to run into her. and it wouldn't matter which of her bodies she came in. i've just got to be able to see those eyes.

maybe a storie. about the coming about of the dramatization of life. it used to go on as it did without detailed observation. then came explanations. maybe they believed they had it. they never do. but the explanations were a welcome relief for many.

they kill now to protect explanations. not completely separate from resources. it is quite enlightening to take their shoes off. and learn to walk on your feet. they will point at you regardless of what explanation you question.

so do it quietly and leave you big stick at home.

there are moments.

_duck stop_

again, i start more out of desperation than inspiration. glenn gould is humming along to his golden something variations. not from the beatles.

i played some today. productivity minimal. feeling of regret minimal.


letter 01.21.03