john rah letter to

dear lysa:

i remember as a boy, seeing you come or go. when we were at your house and you weren't there, i looked to find pictures of you. i didn't know about angels being really real 'cause the story was they had wings. you managed to ignore me for 20 years or so.

and since this is family entertainment, we'll talk kissing. there you were, in the middle of a hillbilly party with your tongue with my tongue talking that so beautiful world understood language.

i'll just say one other thing before going back to my job.

i can still see you that morning, you brushing some order into your hair. standing in such a comfortable womanly way. i was very happy to see that. i was happy to have been with such a woman.

now we get to christian military police state totalitarianism and other aspects of the land to your south.

_duck stop_

how to be. the theologians and philosophers all base their confident conclusions on tired crustifications from past generations of speculations. and in case you can't follow this lysa, none of it is true. they all have little truths to work with but they are simple observations based on symbolic witnessing with paranoid senses.

the sun may come out. i had a beautiful run in the woods. on sunday there are more running, jogging or walking. most people say hello or moin. unless they think they've something to protect. and one thing that pisses me off is the humans who yell at their dogs because someone is going to run by. fuckin' relax and stop making your dogs paranoid. cunts.

_duck stop_

anywhore. the sun is there above the rain clouds. it was quite pleasant. it's warm enough to have my south wall open. it opens to a courtyard where on sunday, sounds are sometimes kids screaming. play panic. reminding one that there are kids. then comes the rain, the crashing thunder just over head. now it has faded to a rumble here. somewhere else in the city they can enjoy it. watch their cat run under a bed or whatever.

still, i want the sun back. the farmers have enough rain this year.

new orleans is under water.

i often see us at the ocean. sitting close together with no one in sight. looking to see if a seal or a whale shows up. we were timid lovers. for almost 2 days.

sorry, where was i. the birds are back to singing. still with rain.

_duck stop_

letter 01.22.02