da kraziest sekuritie kamz

J.R.R. states in his 1955 essay comparing English and Welsh that “Cellar Door” is the most beautiful.

So say I, sir. Hear in me the comfort of a thousand wombs?

It was on special and I thought, you know, what the heck.

Do you remember the story of the boy who refused to grow? He talked to his shadow  about insecurities when masturbating just wasn’t enough to satiate his eternally eager testicles.

And can you imagine the perfection of the sea floor? Relatively unscathed by the animals and repeatedly rejuvenated by the mesmeric moon in whom she placed her trust at the begging of it all.

Remnants of me in depictions of childhood friends sitting on the top of a metal spider’s web.

Remove the diphthong from your nose and you sound just like a real mannaz.

Preoccupied with the dissipation of thought. What a silly slip of the needle, comrade.

Creating a megaman to understand the disconnect between bone and breath. A new leash on life.

What is it, exactly, that you ask of me? To turn a cheek to the clock’s clucking a new hour? I can hear it through wax even!

And pardon me of the discretion while I exfoliate the incompetence which seeps from your pores into my newly innocent chest and I release a premature petal of tainted brandy blood over the milk you spilt on the tiled floor.

My shadow stated a belief that he ran into Michael playing on the bridge, but was indiscernibly shaped at the time and thus unrecognizable. So muted, deafened, and dumbed a large portion of myself lies in his former bed physically exposed waiting for permission to leave.

Impossible you say? Count the freckles on my eye and tell me a lie more consciously composed.

Utilize my syntax. Shake my hands and flash your waistband. Shave your eyebrows when I pass into unbeing.

Lay me down Namtar on your bed of poorly placed nails and hammer into me all of the knowledge which can be rejoined from one head to another of the jackal’s incarnations and revaluations of previous I that this pattern quilt may be sewn over in permance and capitulate to me the alluring truth of pleasure and how the speech of tongue might prosper under the strength of man.

The prototype for our new environment exists in Stanley Kubrick movies and the like but if we were to put a little more effort into our own existence then a full scale settling should be underway in no more than one additional generation. So the point isn’t go to the grocery store and something non perishable that suits you will tempt you in tin decadance for the next thirty years, NO! get your head out of the bomb shelter, Busgy and smell the atoms! We’re at the end of our collective rope here and the only solution lies in waking up the cerebrum with the electrodes of anticipation and fucking frying our wrinkles out one that machine. Exercise em.. Even if we don’t have the ideas yet.

When it all collapses quite literally from the ground up (farewell!) would you really want to say you let slip the perfectly firm grasp you had on that little palm of your future kin and someone else’s child’s dearest friend?

Here is the staple in the packet of paper.
The core of the apple.
The eleckkktrical chord.
The big hand is on the little hand is on the 12.
*YOU ARE HERE*
Thank your lucky stars!
your fathers and mothers
their fathers and mothers
their fathers and mothers
their fathers and mothers
who gave you this burden
of wiping up the crumbs
and cleaning out the gutter
and scraping off the gum

it is what it is

it’s what it isn’t
isn’t
what
it
was it worth it?
is
what
it isn’t what it will be
is

*YOU ARE HERE*
Thank your lucky stars!

http://www.endlesscavern.com/

ON:Y 18 hours 6 hours apeece knwaimsayin….

All in. Ready to not care if I’m crazy or not. Let’s do it Nick but you gotta push me just as hard as i push you and yesthatgoesforyoutoomaggieeee I’m so jealous that you two are together.

Something that has become very apparent top me lately: I’m really super in love with Molly. And it’s grrreat, we’re one of those kissing on the escalator couples and man its cool. But it’s also cool toi be single at the same time, and promiscuous. It’s just fun for me, and admiration… does that make sense?

meh. i hi. gah go.

j out

I’ve stopped taking mood stabilizers and smoking pot for the first time in a year. Couple this with the fact that it is currently 70 degrees and thunderstorming because the weather has always had a profound influence on the way that I feel. Lack of stability in the upper troposphere…you can figure it out, I’m certain.

The result? I feel feelings. Emotions. Pardon me? Emotions. Oh okay.

I write from a place of anger almost frustration because of the intellectual dormancy I’m needlessly experiencing right now. My heart is heavy and I’m left to consider all of the things weighing it down down down because I don’t have anything else – people, pot, pills, red licorice, courses? – that is going to fill me with helium and send me afloat above it all. Of course it all matters. Everything was worth it except for the crash of the stock market and the death of Maude Flanders. What first? Of course, in the interest of honesty, the fact that I feel useless to the project of Prologue/Epilogue once again for the simple fact that I have no idea what I’m doing. No idea translates to no ideassss because you need at least one of something as an intermediary stage between zero of it and a plurality. I don’t even know what this project is about! I fear having to answer to Nicholas Mark and Jeffrey John for any ideas I do have that may be drawn from a place less or more foreign though once again I must reiterate that I have been sucked dry and I have plenty to say that I will likely never try to force slide place delicately into this work.

But why not try? It is five fucking hours long. I feel apart and disconnected geographically artistically and psychologically from you two but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about the universe and may may maybe it might just work seeing as how scientists in the United States and France made discoveries about AIDS at roughly the same time independent of each other. You understand of course:

A collective human living universal unconscious consciousness binds us somehow (no I don’t know how and I never will because if I’m very very lucky I’ll live another sixty years) and don’t give me some horsehonkey about science slowly and rhythmically breeding progress until presto bango a discovery is ready to happen like a pearl in the oyster. Progress waits for nobody! You give five hundred people yesterday’s New York Times crossword they’ve never seen before and they will perform infinitely better than they would on today’s. Just as the ever-dwindling murder of people-crows who haven’t seen 2 girls 1 cup argues that “there are things you can’t unsee” there are also things that cannot unhappen! All the time things are being added to a universal registry of happenings and if you are a thing on earth or anywhere ever (but we are white adolescent humans on earth and that is what we have to work with however constricting it may be), then it applies to you. So there’s something! I’m standing firm with this one. And it proves the point in two ways that I belong to this project which is all I was really trying to convince myself in the first place. More to come I think. I have accepted without really questioning OR understanding for that matter – this is to say while still tremendously honoring and appreciating as well as envying and revering – the labor and craftsmanship that has gone into Pro/Epi from which I have undeniably been conspicuously absent.

my mission statement, since we are still being honest with each other and I haven’t gone to bed yet (that’s a reference to House of Yes; it’s only like 2 pm right now): I AM NOT A SCIENTIST! meteorology and physics to me are only useful as artistic metaphors, not artistic philosophies. I want to make this abundantly clear because the way I perceive things now this is where Jeffrey (you too my dear Nicholas?) and I have what lawyers would call a “divergence of opinion” though I don’t take legal advice from anyone because I don’t need it and I would more or less simply term it “different strokes for different folks” a la Sarah Palin or someone equally charming and accessible. I mean that I cannot be there I can only see there and OF COURSE perform it, and there are certainly multiple multiple pluuuuural as I was saying earlier facets of this undertaking and I’ve said this, voiced this, to Jeff and now here and now to the world! that I, as a matter of necessity, must tackle the physical more than the analytical and the lighter (read: funny) rather than heavier (sorry John Mayer) side of things head on because invariably the truth will come out that when I try to cut into the thick cosmos with a plastic butter knife, I am not able to slice very deep. Besides the same insight for me just comes from a different place. In the concrete, your little everydays that you notice and laugh at on the way to raising canes. In the abstract, celestial star plays where stars dress up as Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson and take shits everywhere. Just for example.

As I write this I have to add that I am still in love with everyone and this includes myself however as a result of sudden chemical changes, my actions and reactions and synapses – the vast communication network of all that strange biobullshit – are not so one note today. If in fact that Harvard diploma on my psychiatrist’s wall is real his job is to convince me that this is a bad thing once I get back to Minneapolis. Right now it is fruitful. The bipolar tree bears big beautiful fruit but unfortunately the fruit eats itself unless I pick it right away.

I have all the confidence in the world and almost none of it is sexual and I’m not going to let this bother me or anyone ever again.

I’m ready for the next stage after Nuts Time and for the big push into Pro/Epi. It’s official folks. Go crazy! (I mean this in the way Jack Buck meant it about cardinals baseball)

The weather is fucking impressive, inspirational, and most importantly, as Al Gore helps me remember, it is real. A drug is real, but its product isn’t. A philosophy doesn’t materialize unless you live it (and mean it). When I feel like there is nothing to speak of because there is nothing to speak for, I remember the phrase, “it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity” and there I go, out on my back porch, it’s the damn truth. Then there is nothing I wouldn’t do to see Maude, to see all of it, resurrected.

Maddy Riley gotta love that girl.

I just noticed something really fucking sick. It’s going to lower your opinion of me. Somehow I missed a fingernail when I clipped them. I think I cut them like… at least a day ago. I’ve been walking around with one longer. Am I a burnout or something? There’s only ten of those things… hopefully no one noticed I feel like it would have been commented upon.

I think it’s one of my personal goals to absolve myself of all secrets. This is something Maddy might call a lack of discretion. In an odd way, I view it as the epitome of maturity. In my utopian society, secrets would be condemnable. I guess that this stipulation springs from one part childhood pain and two parts opinion that secrets themselves directly cause more abusive conflict than honesty ever has. The clear problem with this crusade is that it places me on the same playing field as all dictators ever. Can one strive for complete authenticity out of a place of benevolence? Or is this desire coming from a place to have more influence over others’ lives… I guess as long as I live by example you all have just as much control over me as I would you. Power doesn’t have to be the bastard child of deception and domination, does it? What about a marriage of accessibility and cooperation? I don’t see that ever happening in general society. Governments live and die behind veils. Perhaps I’m truly one of THOSE people who go off one day to live in white sheets amongst like minded forest dwellers (read commune).

Trust. I, and others like me (girls between the ages of 12-17), require a high level of feedback due to an utter lack of confidence. That being established, I’ve gotten to a place where -at least superficially- I don’t give a shit what men think. I’ve said and done some pretty ridiculous shit recently with the men and women in my life. I’ve basically propositioned … five people within the past 48 hours. The results have been perhaps less than desirable, but factoring in the misinterpretation of electronic tone I finally have reached a recommendable place of sexual confidence. Somehow this assemblage of self-control doesn’t translate into a thorough belief in my abilities as a thinker and lover. I still starve for verbal confirmation from those I respect. Hopefully I receive more of it these coming months? In their own ways people like Kym, Gulgun, Arij, and Michael Sommers have given me bits of the dignity I crave… but what I’m really looking for is  more than that- something that I may not be able to fully experience until Prologue/Epilogue gets big. It drives me to complete the project.

It has been established that this project is, in fact, fucking outstanding. Does it need to be reiterated? People like to over-amplify their excitement about collective projects in order to strengthen their human bonds with team members… but I really have convinced myself that the idea and spirit behind this work is standalone incredible. If for some reason I died I would dearly hope that it still got produced. It needs to happen. Even if no one listens yet. Even if no one understands it yet. Even religions have a small radius of influence. We can’t ask for much more than gradual adjustment… but there is a productivity in the achievement of that alteration on even a small level. Think of how our own capacity to influence and generate has been amplified by the consideration of these ideas… each human we are able to activate reaches an unprecedented level of imagination and leadership. Obviously our ideas aren’t fresh babies. What then makes us unique?

An adequate answer doesn’t immediately come to mind. But there is something, right? Some sort of spirit that has been bestowed upon our beings that might give us the ability to invoke action where others have tried and failed… I want to believe in that so badly. There might come a day when I have spent my last dollar when there needs to be something more concrete than that.

I’m excited for the sun to start shining a little brighter, allowing for the dancing of men and women in fields. I am willing and wanting to make videos with you (Maggie) (in Missouri) of some of the movements I see the show incorporating. I’m ready to do all of these uncomfortable things that I would deem “odd” should I see others participating in them. Maybe, though, they will attract the type of people that I can invest creative energy in. I’m grateful for this small period of time to concentrate on the work. In a few weeks i’ll be doing bio mechanics and buffooning and worrying about whether or not Tom wants to fuck.

I downloaded six Vonnegut books for the now 5 hour 46 minute trip to Burrow or whatever suburb it is that Maggie originates from. Kurt is a like mind. His book Timequake deals with the worldwide repetition of a ten year period of time. Good shit. Also, Einstein’s Dreams. Jeff, you need to read this. Maggie, I feel like you already have. Different scenarios of Earth with minor physical adjustments.

Being a self-aware college elitist has only brought me prosperity. I know I know… there have been much smarter. I know I know the 70s failed to stop the 00s. That doesn’t stop me from trying to saving at least my friends from the projected 2050s. Art rarely dominates cooperate balance. They fund our work. Free thought rarely has the final say in government. Money does. That’s not pessimism, it’s reality. But the whole trend away from Monarchy toward Democracy and Communism over the course of the past 400 years should give humanity hope that a truer sense of freedom is achievable. I read somewhere a theory that Man’s basic capacity to bridge the gap between the physical and mental has increased with every generation. Should we assume this to be true, perhaps men and women will truly become more equal with each passing year. What obstacles still exist? Equalities of marriage, education, and economic opportunity. A hesitancy to distribute wealth, or at least a hesitancy to invest in indirect benefit. Removing our misguided sense of temperance and cosmic significance is the quickest route I can identify to do so. Removing the frame of reference from a human life results in an entity who can consider not only the past but the expedient future when making present decisions. Make man God of himself. Can man be inspired to carry the burden of change? Can a community of informed people achieve a level of consideration which allows them to take unselfish action? I give my life and energy who anyone who is willing to help improve the future of mankind. We are in the prime of history. Our desire to influence the race not only comes from a place of altruism but enacts itself through cooperative enlightenment. Men have formed my civilization out of greed and self-worth. I don’t want to be king.  I recognize a point at which ideological differences will negate the possibility of initial inclusion. However, if someone is willing to fully embrace an It mentality, I can’t identify the opportunity for discrimination or agitation. It is all inclusive of … well everything. The societal alteration to be achieved takes the needle of primary emphasis off of the record of an individual life and opens up the possibility that self fulfillment can be achieved from a commitment to humanity’s prosperity. The arousal of any type of hurtful action which naturally arises from misunderstanding or intention should be actively combated. “Treat one another as you would like to be treated” clearly doesn’t go far enough. Treat one another in the context of importance. What matters in your life? You have, perhaps, 80 years. Loving is the most important thing. Not pleasing an omnipresent, omniscient God. Not gaining rank. Creating and maintaining enjoyment. Equal opportunity to enjoy the time each baby has on this planet. Equality of enjoyment for those who will come after us. Not self-indulgent enjoyment at the risk of any others’. Not the thoughtless over-consumption of energy, resources.

Make man God of himself. Supported by a consideration of past indiscretions and foresight into our inevitable extinction.

While I write this I’m watching some trashy reality TV. I’m also hungover. Where does it come from? Does it even make sense? Is it progressive?

I went outside today and it was warm. Not like “oh haha it’s 40 degrees how warm!” but like “only need a t shirt kinda sweaty warm.” What does this all mean! It means that in the middle latitudes the temperature gradient is very tight and continental air masses move through easily creating high contrast in weather between places like Minneapolis and St. Louis, the former of which is only six degrees north of the latter. Imagine that!

stupid.

if I ever make an attempt at bisexuality it might crash and burn but SHIT I just remembered the time I did last year and it turned out pretty well actually. sober too. tell ya later.

What do I say? I say yes to all! I say that the inevitable progression of a teeteringonthebrink drug-fueled uncertain time like Nuts Time is toward a new sureness of ourselves that means confidence, power, sway, all these. Will our heads get too big to fit even two (let alone three) in the same room? We’ll just knock down walls and build bigger rooms.

I love you so much.

but I’m not letting go of the Dean’s List.

*It must be noted that I’m drunk*

Operation bisexuality was a big failure….

Though honestly little effort was placed into the effort, I wasn’t feeling any sort of tingle in the tangle and gave up pretty early on in the game. I guess this confirms my suspicions. I am, in fact, a big fat homosexual. How disappointing! Being BIsexual would have been such a hoot. I am left with the prospect with having to really invest in finding the secret reserve of masculinity within the deep dark Fag Caverns. I can’t rely on the on the possibility of magically finding a bride and pleasing everyone in that way. Maybe I should start doing steroids or something. I’m jealous and somewhat angry that I am only attracted to men. How boring. A future full of either Tom Lloyds or Matt Hackmans. What a lottery!

Slumdog Millionaire is certainly not worth 9 dollars. Some Indian who had a really shitty childhood and takes weekly refuge in “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” wrote it in an effort to translate Bollywood into Hollywood and let us just stipulate that they failed perhaps not miserably though certainly pitifully. It’s one of those movies that people will tell you to go see out of American guilt. Over and over images of slum life. LOOK AT HOW SHITTY INDIA IS! OH MAN YOU SHOULD BE SOOOO GRATEFUL TO BE EATING BUNCHACRUNCHES!! Man, I am gunna go ahead and eat these bunchacrunches and not feel so bad due to the oversight of your scriptwriter to incorporate comedy. That whole gimmick about having experienced the answers individually was a bit of a stretch (maybe in a chuck klosterman book or something) and the steaks of being tortured were never very elevated in my mind. I don’t care that youknowwho (not voldemort) died, and I was certainly disappointed in the happy-go-lucky ending of it all. THERE WAS A DANCE NUMBER. I wanted blood. Is that so sick? just a bit of a tragedy in the end or something. I guess that this comes from a place of not having fallen in love at the tender age of 6 and not having known any other 6 year old lovers. It baffles me why Hollywoood producers/directors/writers have convinced themselves that what I truly need in my unfulfilled life is to know that true love is possible, that is as long as I have previously invested in a relationship… at the stage of infancy. Why don’t more movies deal with erectile dysfunction? That’s something that really hits home.

I talked to some high school boys who stated that it sickened them to think about gay sex. Straight sex doesn’t make me want to vomit at all, no matter how I feel about those monsters people live to sick their faces in. Is that a machismo thing? Admitting a level of comfort with the act would be to associate oneself with an undesirable rank of man? I have no desire whatsoever to return to junior or high school. What a terrible age. s What terrible ages they were. The only thing I miss about them is leading a choir in an Italian cathedral. I miss singing in that scenario. One doesn’t just walk down the street yelping, “Ride on King Jesus, no man can hinder you!” but fuck belting that shit in baritone is pretty… orgasmic? I have myself on CD somewhere and I really don’t suck at it at all. I like having secret abilities like that, except that the pay off of having them is being able to share them with worthwhile people at some point. Which I, under the current conditions, will never be able to do. As ridiculous as it sounds, I’ve been thinking that it would kind of be fun to have a talent show or something. Or at least inviting my friends to take the leap of more fully expose themselves. And I’m not talking about talking. I’m so very tired of talking. I want to dance and sing and rest in silence. These are acts that would occur out of pleasure instead of a need to flaunt feathers. I take pleasure out of experiencing the ability of my fellow man.  And it must be known by all that I’ve exhausted myself attempting to flash the extent of my kooky creativity these first three semesters. This comes from a different place. To be honest, I already know that Maggie, Jeff, and I are the hottest of hot shit in that arena already. Do I have to continue to flail my arms around? No no I have a different frontier in my eagle eye gaze. Legitimacy might be a word for it. I guess that this drunken rant can be attributed to getting some. It has put me on this cocky pedestal. But hey, this is exactly what I fucking need. I’m quite ready to enact the experiment of walking around like I own the place. I’m not too scared of the reputation I receive as long as people respect me as an artist. I’ve spend two decades unsure of myself and my capacity to lead. I’m ready to revolutionize this shit. The evolution of nuts time is upon us.

I have opinions. And you’ve got to admit that when I spend enough time formulating them they are generally worth your consideration. I’m ready to unleash them, I suppose. Is anyone else on this bandwagon? Can you see me here all disheveled slurring my words? Am I succeeding at all at conveying this emotion, this impetus? I’m trying to tell you that I’m ready to push the big red button, whatever that means. I think it does mean something. It means really writing Pro/Epi and making this shit happen. It means owning everything we create starting with 24 hour theatre. For me, at least, it manifests itself in the context of doing whatever the fuck I want to. Living on impulses. Sitting in the shower is one of my favorite memories. Ever. And it happened because we agreed to forgo logic. Maybe i’m putting a definition on something that has already been in the process of occurring, but I want to point it out as something which I require to occur even as we conclude this transition into adulthood. I want to amplify the craziness within the structure of composure, if that makes any sense. I’m ready to be Nicholas Mark Marcouiller, the adult. The living of this lifestyle might not include as many drugs. It certainly doesn’t include as much stress or pre-analyzation. Adulthood is devoid of lies. Maturity is in a sexual and intellectual free trade zone. Can we make this final leap? We’re so close already, I know. I wouldn’t verbalize it all if I didn’t think it was necessary in order to take us to the next level. Can we invest in being what we’ve dreamed about being… now? The whole degree thing will happen, too (Don’t worry!). But is it unreasonable (seriously, it might be?) to ask that we concentrate not on school but on life? I know that I certainly haven’t up until the very end of this most recent semester. You might have to risk the 4.0. I’m sorry. Maybe that isn’t something worth giving up- I wouldn’t know I’ve never had it. But why would I worry about pleasing a piece of paper instead of my dick? my eyes? my ears? If I died next year I wouldn’t want you to put on a black suit and claim “oh he was such a bright student!” even if it were true… I would want you to say that I, more than most anyone else you knew, experienced everything that Earth had to offer. I would want you to admit that together we dreamed images in our brain and did our very best to physicalize them, which is the closest to true magic that humans might achieve. I would want you to take comfort in the fact that we achieved a level of confidence to every possible door. Metaphysics isn’t something beyond our reach. Revolutions start on a small scale. I don’t need to change the world, but I’d sure fucking like to try. I think we have things to say. Meaningful things. Inspirational actions to convey. I’m not so confident that our audience is ready for it. That’s my new weakness. Trust that the words I babble are penetrating on some level. Theatre isn’t our end-all format. If nothing else, amplifying the potential of our community is a worthwhile and achievable goal this semester. Let’s go ahead and have these awfully frustrating Salons. Let’s issue pamphlets or something on topics of concern. Let’s maintain a blog that we advertise people are impelled to read. Let’s fuck who the hell we want to. (These are related things somehow) Let’s spend less time on Perez Hilton and more time reading Vonnegut. Let’s spend less time worrying about the A minuses and the skeptics and the embarrassing slip ups. I’m finding  productivity from simply adopting an attitude of boldness and determination. Oprah advertises this as “The Secret” of life. That if you desire something enough you shall receive it. Maybe Billy Mullaney has the right idea, huh? I’ve always known it, but the manner in which he apparently infests himself in study is admirable in this new context. The difference in my mind would be the openness and inclusivity of our approach to it. My horizons are expanded by interactions. I want as many people to confront my journey as possible. Without Tom Lloyd telling me that time doesn’t exist, I don’t think I would be so assured in my conviction that it in fact does. Likewise his stipulation that we experience everything through a human frame of reference is an undeniable truth that has direct implications on Pro/Epi.

Maggie, on this Christmas Day (okay it’s the 25th) I want you to know that without you I’d still be doing mearly pleasant agreeable things. People would think I was “indie” and “interesting”, but only because I was a safe manifestation of an intelligent, somewhat masculine homosexual. GarageBand would still be an idle icon and kites would be a child’s spring toy. Vogue wouldn’t whisper and British accents would turn me on. Just about everything I like about myself has prospered under your direction. If I could fuck you I would. Without a condom because secretly I want us to produce a superbaby. Unfortunately I am happy enough to stand back and experience this all with you for as long as I can force you to let me do so. I’m excited for you to start licking pussy and whatnot. After having said that, I must state my sincerest belief that perhaps we were created with eachother in mind. Just two days apart. Just tiny differences here and there. I think we might have achieved that magical movie friendship that Hillary Duff dreams about. Next time you’re pissed at me tell me why. I’m probably just being stubborn or jealous. I don’t want to lose you because of some silly misunderstanding.

Jeff. I can’t recall a solid (longer than a phrase or fact) memory of you before that Arcadia night which is certainly frightening considering I’m about to say this- that you have, perhaps inadvertently, inspired this whole annoying ramble. I really need you to continue being oblivious to my flaws. And really, for some reason I exhibit my most embarrassing tendencies in the highest frequency while in your presence. I don’t know if you’re aware of the change you’ve undergone recently- I think that perhaps you have and attribute it to manhood – but just know that even if none of this post makes any fucking sense spending time with you has propelled me into a higher state of being which is perhaps the highest complement one can give. I might look back at this whole 2,000 word post someday and cringe but hey… it’s making me happier than I’ve ever been. If nothing else, i’m trying to thank you for this moment of intellectual bliss and indestructibility. Isn’t this what life is about, Jeff? Convincing ourselves that our specific realities matter and influence. Knowing that our specific human connections are tangible and worth cultivating. Can you do me a favor and tell me more often whether I’m on the right track? Although I respect you as a complete equal, I also need you to be on board as my editor.

If you two aren’t on the bandwagon yet JUMP THE FUCK ON. I’ve gone crazy and it’s fucking DELIGHTFUL. You’ve already got that foot on the runner. Now just um devote the best years of your life to the possibility that we are on to something. And that this something can’t possibly occur in the way that conventional people achieve their dreams. It requires these cheesy documents.

MY BRAIN ON THE BEAUTY OF A MAN

CAN NOT PRODUCE A POEM

WHICH ADEQUATELY TRANSCRIBES INTO ANY LANGUAGE

THE PERFECTION

OF HIP FLESH

OR STERNUM

OR EVEN THE WAVES OF SENSATION THEMSELVES

WHICH HAVE IN THIS TIME OVERWHELMED

LETTERS’ PACT TO CONVEY

A STRONG AFFECTION

TOWARD THE WILDER SEX

AND ITS MOST NATURAL YEARNING

TO BE INSIDE OF ANOTHER

YET CERTAINLY I AM ALLOWED AN ATTEMPT

BY THE MOUTH’S ACQUIESCENCE AT PROFESSION

OF MY INSATIABLE APPETITE

FOR THE

PERFECTION

OF YOUR HIP FLESH

AND STERNUM

AND THE WAVES OF SENSATION

WHICH NURTURE DESIRE TO WEAR

STOMACH HAIR ON TONGUE

AND WHICH MIGHT IN FACT

IN THIS TIME

SATISFY THE VERBALIZATION

OF THOSE WORDS THAT HUSBANDS

JAW TO THEIR BRIDES

AND WHICH I WEAKLY DESIRE TO

TAKE PART IN EXCHANGING