(And look what I just found. My bag is just too damn big.)

9:23

J. Dove

Act quickly for now is the time for dreams to awake from a long nap time. I have a job waiting for me in New Orleans on Sept. 10th. Does this leave enough time for a quick jaunt to visit of course + I’d be booking a courier flight today if I knew you’d be somewhere I could get a hold of you. No job for you and plans to move to London led me to this conclusion.

Time is of the essence.

CALL IMMEDIATELY

Estrelica

Call 1st - 323-3872

Call 2nd - 323-0764

Leave number where you can be reached!!!

Okay, enough tomfoolery for one letter, don’t you think. SO, at this exact moment there is a letter addressed to you and stamped and ready to go in the mailbox. As I compose this one I think that maybe I SHOULD put this in with it, but it’s already sealed (the other one, rather the envelope.) Are you as confused as I think I am? I didn’t think so. For some reason I left this computer for a second to do something and I ended up calling three different people about some mail that wasn’t mine. What I’m wondering is if I left deliberately to take care of that piece of mail or if I just happened to meander into the room where the mail was then decided to deal with it. Today has been one of those days where I haven’t been able to start a task and stick with it till it’s done. I end up walking out in the middle of it, go do something else, and worst of all, when I come back I realize I had completely forgotten about the task I had originally started. This could be serious. Serious enough to take all my money and travel before my brain goes. It’s one of those hazy overcast days in the city and I have a brain to match.

So, as I get to the end of the page I begin to ask myself: Did I really say anything in this letter? And then I realize that asking this question exposes the fact that I went to college and not just any college, but Fairhaven College. Well insightful, though thought provoking or no, this is my letter to you. Keep writing.

Guns n Roses n Puns n Proses

Estrelica

 

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Siren song sometime in November 10:22

Listening to Siren Song amid the personal computer paraphernalia thinking of the tall kinky-haired one who spoke of the Batmobile and bought MD 20/20 to sip as he read my cards, asking me to follow him as he searches for truth + beauty when it was in his backyard the whole time. There’s no place like home, but you can’t go home until you’re ready to settle + so I’m off to the shelter for the office life is not for me, nor the faces of the caseworkers numbed + brain-dead, they buy yet another lottery ticket thinking this will save them from the hell hole they’ve created oddly enough in the search of money. Financial security they call it. Double life without parole is more like it. Louis Armstrong - there’s pure beauty Zen in a big black man, just listen, relax + damn it, dream like a madman. Oh poo-poo-po-po the men with the starry eyes are not in the country. And I wish to sing "I’ll be home for Christmas," but at this point I’m afraid I shan’t - but do say hello to my sister for I shall miss her, too. Perhaps you could purchase a beater for $200 + drive till the wheels fall off + burn. Nawlins (and)or (my) bust.

:)