Dearest Antonela,
I received your most recent communication by domesticated vulture fat-bellied with the carrion of some nameless politician and I must say you are absolutely correct when mentioning the de-voiding sense of our past communications torn as they were from our frantic and fantastic deviations to highlight our agreeance on certain if not all subject matter.
I have thought and feared for sometime that the lost art of letter writing is in fact just that, a lost art, and that in our hi-tech-low-life struggle against the machines that control us we have perhaps sacrificed a portion of our intellect and most certainly our creativity by relying on the robots slaves of our entertainment and sexual enjoyment to, for a large portion, dictate our letters for us.
I will attempt here, in this quandary to be clear so that we may reach an affiliation of understanding. you see in the past, the past before the past that was recently the present and was once the future until we surpassed it, we used to all sit in the glow of an ornate oil lamp and dip a quill into ink to lay to paper.
This of course had merit and if nothing else forced us to consider carefully each word, domesticated us into learning the true meaning of words to offer a means to meaning and made us conscious of our penmanship, a self education if you will. When we needed to communicate over distance we would have to think goddamn it! To sit alone and understand and grasp of our own language to express ourselves fully and in the most comprehensive way. Now however it is all LOL and LMFAO and AA (adios amigo) and the like, a very perversion of the King's English and a bastardization of our skills in literacy and as I'm sure you're probably already aware the level of literate capability in our youth, not yours and mine youth that would be preposterous ha ha our youth, phew, dodged that bullet, oh, am I really writing this or just thinking it am I... harrumph, yes as I was saying, youth, the youth are stupid or some such thing.
I'm afraid my thoughts have become rather jangled for reasons I'd prefer not to divulge here as I'm suspicious my warden has been opening my letters before sending them, that fucking shit sucking swine, but never fear my dear I have been fashioning a crude dagger from the bones of a rat I cornered and have been tirelessly sharpening it on the concrete floor of my cell so that brute will have his day, yes the fat is in the fire now and I will smile my haunting smile into his beady little eyes as his lights go out and I twist this weapon into his gizzards until he squeals like a watery eyed girl-child and defecates his pantaloons.
yes, enough of that, I will lean back from this dastardly quill now and light my pipe while I wait for my medication to take effect and aid my communication with you.
okay, that's that. To address one of your recent concerns no I was not 'high' as you so abruptly put it in your fine style of penmanship. However the thought of the possibility did cross my mind. These are strange days and more so now that we freaks in the wilderness have acquired (through shady deals to our personal black marketers) each others addresses and begun these savage communications. But they are needed, yes, they are something tangible in a world of puppet people gone wrong with madness.
all parts of my previous letter to you was in fact true as I reserve the fiction for my stories that currently I'm excited to tell you are paying 5 (five) cents per million words so by Jove and spank the native maid I'm excited to tell you it will be positively no time now before I will be able to take a steamer on a trip across the Atlantic to study the migration patterns of leopard jellyfish. Yes goddamn it I am being facetious, bitter and cynical just as I am of this whole writing game and it's dastardly...
ha ha enough of that! I fear my metabolic drip tube had detached from my arm severing my supply of drip bag Martini cocktail from my veins momentarily and this had dire effects on my temper. I apologize a many thank you's as the King of Siam used to say to me on our many hunting expeditions into the great unknown but that is another story...
Where were we my topaz slow-rider, oh yes, the last communication, indeed... all true. and in fact to go further I have never tried psilocin mushrooms in the company of people but most Saturday nights in THEOLDDAYS would find me in my writing studio with cold beer, warm scotch, traditional Japanese pipe music playing in the cast glow of oil lamps sipped hallucinatory mushroom tea and working on that horrible typewriter to get a different perspective of The Word (also true). These were very good and strange times and during them Michael Jackson appeared to me in white gloves to tell me he was going to die, of course that was perhaps a week before his actual death and never a stronger prophecy or joy has risen in me since. That was possibly the same night my typewriter turned into a lizard and produced some very good work indeed or possibly it was not.
Regarding your inquiry of my use of Jack Kerouac's name in correspondence it is simply a reworked colloquialism I use something like, step back jack. You may enjoy this picturegraph presentation from the height of his career, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QzCF6hgEfto
unrehearsed and he waited in a bar across the street until 1 minute before filming much to the dismay of Steve Allan that incorrigible little shit.
What I feel towards voodoo isn't really an obsession but a mere understanding that it is an effective practice to 'getting things done' however to define what those 'things' are would only be problematic here.
Yes, you're absolutely right damn it! I was a glutton and a fool to ask for everything from you but although these are new communications there is a freedom and ease at which they rise within me that make them feel older than they are and thus I sometimes get confused, even when the drip tube is sufficiently screwed down in my arm, at the length of time we have actually known of one another and this further fuels my dreaded confusion of how little I know of you. but I must remember to relax and take my medication, which I have plenty of, ha ha good show old boy you dandy devil, and I must remember first and fore mostly that quantum physics tell us Time only runs in one direction so that while I positively have not known you in the past I know you somewhat in the present and it is with much delight and a sometimes dangerous happiness I celebrate the idea, although be it merely a concept at the present, of knowing you greater in the future.
Oh! My Irish wolfhound is shaking my drip bag in its gums, I had its teeth removed of course, so I must sign off hastily and try to redeem my present state of suave by sucking the last of my cocktail from the cigarette singed shag pile carpet fiber like the good old boy I am. Yes, the weird live here but they are not the people I'm concerned about or afraid of, it's the others that make me nervous. Ce sera sera then. And a good day to you fine child.
Yours sincerely
Doctor Jonah MDA, PCP, NIN