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balance (2): past

Saturday, November 20, 2004

past

i found this old letter from my wise man friend:

1 it's three thirty five. Im at the kitchen at the table, in the shadow of the sun, trying to get drunk. It's cheaper here, then there: at the bar. Listening to horse With no Name. 2 can I tell you. I didn't do anything today. Im drowning. I answered some email, I slid off the side of the bed in a pile of sheets and lay there looking at the dust under the bed. And im sure my lazy eye wandered to other places. 3 when you go crazy, they put you in straightjackets so you cant scratch your nose, this makes you crazier still and proves their point. People are mad and mean. 4 we have gone all over the place, you remember; the places, the nights we've spent overseas or on roof tops or in hotel beds. There is more and more and really, when you come down to it, to me - that is all that matters. Sometimes I feel I was just born to witness. Not 'look' at things and people like you do. Not 'see' things as you must in your tilted head, but just be there. I want to be everyplace that has a name. Just for the experience. 5 you understand. 6 I only have two beers. Can two beers get me drunk. Can I write you before you get home. Will you read me or just scan it because its Just from me. When you leave you may think I just lay in bed and Squander my life away, but youre wrong and it's not true, im having an affair.. with the sock monkey, we dance, we laugh, we have tea parties until three. I never thought I would find someone that understands me as much as the sock monkey does, it's loosly sewn arm, it's red smile which is so similar to its ass.. if no-one can, the sock monkey can 7 languishing. Are you. You seem happy, I mean unhappily happy. I would never call you Content. Maybe; easy but unpleased, or; regretfully satisfied. I think we both have three people inside us. 8 I am still hiding, I don't go outside, I open the side door to get air, when I hear A bounce about I cringe. I can see her, smiling and Zen, it is unnerving. The wind blows consistently 9 now your home, pasty, white and sick. Grouchy. I sit on the edge of the bed discussing the ever frightening logistics of our present poverty. I would like to get out. I feel like im in a sinkhole. 10 we should get a newspaper and glue it to our arms and feet and stand out in the wind to blow away like kites.

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