Dzhokhar and Tamerlan Tsarnaev Correspondence
by GLIDERS author J. Marshall
Writing to see how you're doing brother, you know when you go I realize once again that I have no friends and how lonely the world really is. I've been sitting around watching much TV, reading the newspaper and some books as well. I can't wait to get out of school so I can finally be free and do what I want to do. What's the point of learning over here, I don't want to make anything of my life, don't want to make anything of it at all. Of course Dad and Mom want me to, I mean, how could they not that's what parents are supposed to do, right? I guess they wouldn't be good parents if they didn't care, huh? I guess I'm just a worthless seed. Well, I'm just writing to say hi, and to say that I wish I'd gone with you to Russia, to see how everything is over there. When you're a loner not by choice, but because nobody wants to be around you, you can't help but to have it on your mind, and Tamerlan, it's on my mind all the time. I went to the movies once, was picked on, though no one at the theater knew me. Maybe they sensed something in me they didn't like. Wasn't that the case for you? Write back soon.
You write me these letters as if you have forgotten how to use the internet, but I have serious life problems of my own, and I also do things that don't make sense, and as a result will spend a long time with pen and paper to write you a letter as well. I got off the plane in Russia and realized the instant my feet hit the tarmac how horrible America is. It made no sense at all, because America is the land of the free and they allowed my sorry ass to come there over a decade ago. But suddenly I have this need to be senseless, because I am quite unable to create anything worthwhile with a mind that is sensible. A sensible mind is the key to life, a teacher of mine once said. At the time it was hard for me to take, too much sense coming at me all at once. So I shoved the nozzle end of a spray bottle up my nose, and when the button depressed I snorted heavily on the bottle's cleaning fumes. Lying there on the kitchen floor, with a crazed smile, and spit bubbling on my ashen lips, I'd never been so high. The spray bottle, you must see, is the key to life for me. The thoughts that follow the ingestion of cleaning spray are always the most clear, always seem to tie what seems to be so many untethered veins that make up my thought process together, and I see clearly. Dad caught me snorting spray once when I was a kid. He beat me until I ran away, but when I ran away the spray bottle was still in hand and I didn't cease snorting.
What I'm saying little brother is that when things don't make sense, when things are hard, do whatever I tell you to do, even if it doesn't make sense, because one thing I can promise you is that it will. One day it will BROTHER! Excuse excitement brimming from within, but I am high as I write this, and my eyes as red as the devil's anus.
I started snorting spray like you suggested, and things make so much sense right now. The world is all of a sudden clear like fresh morning dew lain across blades of dark green grass. Before I didn't see Tamerlan, and it hurt me so, because I started to think that I was a piece of shit, who was worth nothing, but the spray along with the coke, the smack, the weed, the alcohol, the nail polish, the mushrooms, the acid, the ecstasy tablets, the rat poison even, all of it has made things remarkably clear and my eyes swell with tears as I write this I am so ecstatic. You told me to use email, but with the drugs clouding my mind I found it difficult to navigate the desktop and instead decided to write a letter again. My scrawl is similar to that of something you'd expect to find during the Pleistocene Period and I apologize if you are having trouble discerning just what the fuck I am saying. Forgive me brother, but the drugs are strong. I just wanted to let you know that I've taken all the drugs you've asked me too, and will continue to do so. Hope to hear from you soon. Love you brother.
Brother! Have you lost your mind! I said spray bottles, not everything! Not EVERYTHING! It is amazing you still breathe. But what is more amazing is trying all the same drugs that you did, and suddenly I see, suddenly I see everything! I am blessed to have you as my brother and so inspired by what I have learned about taking all drugs, instead of just some drugs, from you. And it is with these drugs in my system that I know what I want to do. It is now that I see what has escaped me for so long and now I know that I don't care about money, but only about destroying our lives for the sake of something that no one is asking for. Brother, I want to make bombs now! Bombs and destroy, bombs and destroy! I can't help it, I am so inspired and I have you to thank. Now I'm not going to give too much details in this letter but you must follow me to work on making bombs and attacking the U.S. at the Boston Marathon in April of 2013. Will you help me brother, though it is utterly unclear as to why I want to do this in the first place! Will you brother! Will you brother! I said brother, will you! Will you brother! Will you do it! Will you help me! You won't get hurt! You won't get arrested! People will think you're a hero! And we will escape safely when it is done! So brother, will you! Will you brother? Brother…oh, sorry, I get lost in the haze of drugs. Write back!
Yes brother, I will. I will.