(Another letter I wrote to you when I was in Seattle. I think this one is my favorite)

11:33

 

All I know is that in my day

there was nobody in his universe

No boys and, still more emphatically,

no girls

Only Mother and masturbation and the

Ascended Masters

 

Boys will be boys, eh J. Dove? I guess the hardest thing about being alone is trying not to be. Had a date tonight. Went to see a movie which I didn’t really like with a guy who didn’t smoke. Guess you could say I was feeling a bit superior this evening - not a good place to be when you’re out with a guy.

And I replay the evening’s conversation wondering if I said anything rude, cutting or crass. It’s a distinct possibility knowing my character and given the mood I was in - I love people to death, but one on one they can annoy the hell out of me. No one’s perfect - perhaps I expect too much - Seamus once accused me of being harsh and judgmental. Well, he called that one right. Tomorrow’s his birthday but he’ll be getting nothing in the post from me. Not b/c of his comment, mind you - hell, I fucked him after that - but you know he doesn’t write....

Loved your letters - always love your letters, I’m more than thrilled about your present situation and if I only had a brain I’d be on a plane tomorrow. Protect me from what I want. Have an interview tomorrow at the YMCA. We’ll see....

There’s too much shit around this house to distract one from any regular, consistent thought pattern. Newspapers with bleeding heart yellow stories, loads of laundry that never gets done when you consider certain types use a new towel every day, the TV with its constant buzz and hum and static I would swear that all the couch potatoes of Amerika are getting irradiated.

Yes, well, it was last night as I sat to read that I realized my problem as to why I haven’t written anything lately, why I find myself daydreaming scattered thoughts, distracted, jumbled, confused. It’s like indicative of a video arcade, it’s like "THEY" offer you all these treats, in bite sizes to give you the illusion you’re being fed which you are, but maybe it’s that it isn’t a balanced diet or like "THEY’RE" trying to get us to eat like birds...no.

I seem to have lost the thought, of course you realize that’s the problem inherent in trying to think metaphorically. Let’s see what’s on TV tonight...? Puke, vomit, upchuck, ad nauseum. Oh, Christ, the washer has stopped, it’s time to pay homage to the god of cleanliness, master of the white void with his bleached pubic hair, scrubbed hinny and whitewashed willie. But, hey, they can’t make me use the softener sheets.

 

Alright, listen: I got off the phone with you yesterday and only flet guilty or mayby felt guilty for about 5 minutes. I think I’m learning to accept the fact that I may not travel for another year to. So, the...

Ahhhh, a nice healthy dump and a new typewriter ribbon, I feel like a new man. It’s about time I moved out to another place on my own, this apartment isn’t big enough for the tree of us or shall I say three of us.

 

Later that same day:

Just got back from an excursion downtown to buy my garter belt and pseudo silk stockings. Also sent you your beloved Lucky Strikes, didn’t put in a letter cause they charge extra so don’t think me rude.

Saw Nance on First Ave. She said hello and I said hello and that was the extent of our conversation.

Scott and Mark are drunk, Matt informs me that he wishes to have chafed butt sex with you, is it all right if he comes for a visit? Actually, Mark just said that he doesn’t travel, what else do you expect from a white male who graduated from a private Jesuit high school?

J. - I am reminded of a scene not unlike this - with a boy and a girl and a stream. In his hand the boy held a poem he had written for her. And as he read his creations, his most precise communications, she cringed a bit for he cut through her shit. He crumpled the page in a passionate rage and into the stream he threw it.

This is probably the last correspondence I will send to this address, please keep me informed on new whereabouts. I think of you often - saw a Classic Cab tonight near Mad Mick’s, most likely on its way to the 5 Point.

Anything you need? Just ask, I’ll see what I can do.

God bless

Estrelica