How I have thought of you, with yearning, with anger, over and over during the past year.
You have bricked up the space between us. Grown it thick with trees. Put up bars to split us in two.
Were you ever going to break the silence? When? A year from now? When I was dead and the worms had grown fat from feasting on my corpse? Never?
Why I write I cannot say. You are rude, crude and outrageous to know. You have shocking manners, no decorum, do outrageous things, make people recoil. Yet I count you among those rare treasures, my two friends. What is wrong with me?
Are you still sniffing your fingers? Anointing them with nose-oil. Rubbing them together. Pausing for effect, inhaling the musky fragrance. Saying--AAAH! SUBLIME!
Tell me you found someone to torment for the rest of your life. Are you still hailing a cab in the middle of a run? And collapsing across the back seat! Still straining out farts? And then rushing off to the toilet! 'Oh FUCK!'
My spectacular life! I could dazzle you in one big outpouring. But I held back. My ingenuity failed me. The stillborn tale died half-way down my pen. How could I lie to you--I am stuck. My life is filled with ennui.
You remember Susan? Susan of the worthy heart? Your eyes got big and your jaw dropped: 'where did you find HER?' Then you grabbed her tits and got slapped! We turned crimson. You turned up your palms 'what? WHAT!' and the red mark grew on your cheek.
Enough of Phoenix! The eternal lapis-lazuli sky. The filthy racetrack. Tongue-tied rednecks. Those dreadful pink rocks. The brain-slaying sun. The tedious green cactii. I am getting away at last.
Tell me you have found true love (outside of your right hand). Say you are ready for that motorbike trip through Sweden. Be unjust and return to me.
Your estranged friend,
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