Do I make you shout Hare Hare Hare Krishna?
Darling,
I woke up crying today. Have you ever done that?
You see, I remember being half-awake, walking the circus high wire of dream-la-la-land and a sober-sartre nausious feeling. I remember my eyes being warmer than the rest of my body, with milky tears. My chest was gently convulsing and I realize I had been crying. literally. So I peeked my head out of the blanket and there was such a cold breeze coming to their corners and high up on the cheekbones.
Then I walked the dog. And church bells started ringing. They always ring on Sundays. What a fucking horrror! Can you imagine all the last-night Saturday hangovers cursing at the bells and waking up on their couches...or someone else's couches. What a pounding bitch! And the sun was scorching, and my dog was panting really hard.
Sometimes I realize how old he is and I feel sorry for him. But what's the use feeling sorry for him all the time? He has all sorts of gray hairs on his muzzle and he's growing molls, and gets sick alot. What you going to do, right?
Jesus. I had the whole fucking day planned. I was going to get up as fresh as a dazy, breathe in the sunshine, take the bus back to Border's to get some more books, bye myself a sandwich and a moca freeze (like yesterday. Yesterday morning was so beautiful. I wish you could have been there!), clean the house, edit some, and do my homework.
Then, out of pure foolishness and your advice (two parellel, but not intersecting things) I decided to watch my second video--Requiem For A Dream.
I couldn't stop crying for two hours. Then I took a nice, warm bath with my friends Dvozak, Handle, and Liszt. Or was it Holdel? or Hadel? Hadel, I think. Not Handle. The woman on the radio, with a heavy British accent, said:
"Up in a castle in Chekoslavakia, the greatest (something) was discovered, changing music in the late 19th century. ...it will be played by the European Chamber Orchestra..."
So I washed my hair and my body and now I feel real hungry. I was dressing (Russian dressing) and I thought of you and how you wanted me to write you.
I wrote a lot yesterday. In fact, for about an hour, I couldn't go to sleep because all these things were coming to my head, so I ran back and forth, to and fro, to my living room downstares so I could write down those things. I didn't figure out taking my notebook to my room, leaving it by the bed...it must have been the coffee and the shot. I wrote some nine poems. Strange isn't it. I'm sorry if I sound vain--I don't mean to--I'm just a little shocked. Yesterday was crazy. I'd like to send you some poetry. I hope you're ok with that.
Lost in Translation was so beautiful. So beautiful. I held my hand to my mouth for several minutes when the credits started rolling. Perhaps after I finish writing, I will go and return it.
J, Are you really leaving on the 28th? I mean...isn't it a little...fast--you're told me it's good for you, but... --j! You can't leave! I mean...you can't. I want to feel good. I feel like shit right now. But you make me feel good j. How was Amy's bar yesterday. I care a lot for you. Stop drinking.
Please. Don't leave.
Please!
But we can still write to each other. I understand you don't have a computer...that is--unless Porscha has one. But you can write to me in pen and call me sometimes. And I'll call you. And when I'm old enough, I can see you. It will all work out beautifully, don't you think? I hope so.
I don't know J. I don't understand how people live alone. Don't they just go crazy? It's unhealthy to listen to yourself think. It's unhealthy to hear your heartbeat louder than the radio or the television. It's unhealthy to hear yourself so loud, that your own mind drowns the world out and the rooms you live in are just toy houses. There is no reason to do anything. There is no reason to open the window. Next time you're taking a bath, J, I dare you to put your ears under water until everything becomes a door in front of you, with light in it. You can't do it for more than a few minutes. And as soon as your ears are filled with the same pressure; the familial noises, you become calm and glad to be alive. More than those few minutes is hell, J. It's suicide. It's dying awake.
Remember yesterday night when I took a bath, I was listening to Verdi and Puccini. I opened the door of the bathroom, so I could hear the mega-loud music downstairs (in fact I was afraid the neighbors would come a-knocking at 9pm, asking me to turn it down, but they didn't). Then I put my head underwater and I could still hear something. I think this gave me re-assurance. Hope.
Hey J, who's louder
--day or night?
I wrote about my father yesterday. He's like the light in my window, always consoling me. Before mom left (and Thank God she's coming back this tues.), she told him to call me once a day. Well, he calls me like...four times a day. I love the attention and the care. He didn't care much for me when I was smaller, but gradually grew into paternity as he became old, like most males. And yes, you well fell it overwhelmingly too if you live to forty (which you claim you won't make, and that's a shame!)
I love you SO much.
Only yours,
O
doozy J,
My darling darling J! How I miss you! I'm sorry I haven't emailed you in some time. This week has been absolute hell. Now, I'm in LA with my father, buying postcards with Audrey Hepburn faces in Venice Beach. God, it's lovely here. LA couldn't be any more vulgar.
I am so relaxed! This is the first day I've gotten more than five hours of sleep. In fact, this morning, I woke up thinking it was yesterday. Christ. Techno Christ!
J!
J, how is the interview in Antarctica? How's your life going, J! I love you so much. Write me back and tell me everyhting about yourself. We have so little time...the 28th! J! J!!! I love you I love you I love you! Be with me be with me be with me be with me! I miss you so much. Are you upset at me in any way? Where have you disappeared? Kiss kiss kiss!
Everything and forever,
O
In a tender, J,
I miss you.
love,
O
Darling,
I woke up crying today. Have you ever done that?
You see, I remember being half-awake, walking the circus high wire of dream-la-la-land and a sober-sartre nausious feeling. I remember my eyes being warmer than the rest of my body, with milky tears. My chest was gently convulsing and I realize I had been crying. literally. So I peeked my head out of the blanket and there was such a cold breeze coming to their corners and high up on the cheekbones.
Then I walked the dog. And church bells started ringing. They always ring on Sundays. What a fucking horrror! Can you imagine all the last-night Saturday hangovers cursing at the bells and waking up on their couches...or someone else's couches. What a pounding bitch! And the sun was scorching, and my dog was panting really hard.
Sometimes I realize how old he is and I feel sorry for him. But what's the use feeling sorry for him all the time? He has all sorts of gray hairs on his muzzle and he's growing molls, and gets sick alot. What you going to do, right?
Jesus. I had the whole fucking day planned. I was going to get up as fresh as a dazy, breathe in the sunshine, take the bus back to Border's to get some more books, bye myself a sandwich and a moca freeze (like yesterday. Yesterday morning was so beautiful. I wish you could have been there!), clean the house, edit some, and do my homework.
Then, out of pure foolishness and your advice (two parellel, but not intersecting things) I decided to watch my second video--Requiem For A Dream.
I couldn't stop crying for two hours. Then I took a nice, warm bath with my friends Dvozak, Handle, and Liszt. Or was it Holdel? or Hadel? Hadel, I think. Not Handle. The woman on the radio, with a heavy British accent, said:
"Up in a castle in Chekoslavakia, the greatest (something) was discovered, changing music in the late 19th century. ...it will be played by the European Chamber Orchestra..."
So I washed my hair and my body and now I feel real hungry. I was dressing (Russian dressing) and I thought of you and how you wanted me to write you.
I wrote a lot yesterday. In fact, for about an hour, I couldn't go to sleep because all these things were coming to my head, so I ran back and forth, to and fro, to my living room downstares so I could write down those things. I didn't figure out taking my notebook to my room, leaving it by the bed...it must have been the coffee and the shot. I wrote some nine poems. Strange isn't it. I'm sorry if I sound vain--I don't mean to--I'm just a little shocked. Yesterday was crazy. I'd like to send you some poetry. I hope you're ok with that.
Lost in Translation was so beautiful. So beautiful. I held my hand to my mouth for several minutes when the credits started rolling. Perhaps after I finish writing, I will go and return it.
J, Are you really leaving on the 28th? I mean...isn't it a little...fast--you're told me it's good for you, but... --j! You can't leave! I mean...you can't. I want to feel good. I feel like shit right now. But you make me feel good j. How was Amy's bar yesterday. I care a lot for you. Stop drinking.
Please. Don't leave.
Please!
But we can still write to each other. I understand you don't have a computer...that is--unless Porscha has one. But you can write to me in pen and call me sometimes. And I'll call you. And when I'm old enough, I can see you. It will all work out beautifully, don't you think? I hope so.
I don't know J. I don't understand how people live alone. Don't they just go crazy? It's unhealthy to listen to yourself think. It's unhealthy to hear your heartbeat louder than the radio or the television. It's unhealthy to hear yourself so loud, that your own mind drowns the world out and the rooms you live in are just toy houses. There is no reason to do anything. There is no reason to open the window. Next time you're taking a bath, J, I dare you to put your ears under water until everything becomes a door in front of you, with light in it. You can't do it for more than a few minutes. And as soon as your ears are filled with the same pressure; the familial noises, you become calm and glad to be alive. More than those few minutes is hell, J. It's suicide. It's dying awake.
Remember yesterday night when I took a bath, I was listening to Verdi and Puccini. I opened the door of the bathroom, so I could hear the mega-loud music downstairs (in fact I was afraid the neighbors would come a-knocking at 9pm, asking me to turn it down, but they didn't). Then I put my head underwater and I could still hear something. I think this gave me re-assurance. Hope.
Hey J, who's louder
--day or night?
I wrote about my father yesterday. He's like the light in my window, always consoling me. Before mom left (and Thank God she's coming back this tues.), she told him to call me once a day. Well, he calls me like...four times a day. I love the attention and the care. He didn't care much for me when I was smaller, but gradually grew into paternity as he became old, like most males. And yes, you well fell it overwhelmingly too if you live to forty (which you claim you won't make, and that's a shame!)
I love you SO much.
Only yours,
O
doozy J,
My darling darling J! How I miss you! I'm sorry I haven't emailed you in some time. This week has been absolute hell. Now, I'm in LA with my father, buying postcards with Audrey Hepburn faces in Venice Beach. God, it's lovely here. LA couldn't be any more vulgar.
I am so relaxed! This is the first day I've gotten more than five hours of sleep. In fact, this morning, I woke up thinking it was yesterday. Christ. Techno Christ!
J!
J, how is the interview in Antarctica? How's your life going, J! I love you so much. Write me back and tell me everyhting about yourself. We have so little time...the 28th! J! J!!! I love you I love you I love you! Be with me be with me be with me be with me! I miss you so much. Are you upset at me in any way? Where have you disappeared? Kiss kiss kiss!
Everything and forever,
O
In a tender, J,
I miss you.
love,
O