Tuesday, March 22, 2011
December 8, 2008, re: inalpsea
monday is a cruel hoax. spent the weekend indoors. spent the first half of the weekend with z. schomburg, both in and out of doors. then the second half entirely indoors. left only for a carton of milk, which i then poured all over a small litter of dead rats; lit the rats on fire; white fireworks. reading old peterson field guides. eating corn tortillas.
i'm happy that the books landed in your lap. any consideration of audience is irrelevant; we must consider our friends. but something even more sustaining and valuable than that, whatever that might be, exactly. there is no public but friendship. anyone else can put a gun in their mouth, and pull the trigger, if i don't do so first. the alps, i feel, bears the influence of the pines --- carrying forth the same spirit. i would love to share with you some of the latest things; they are truly made of feces --- redolent and squishy.
what's life like back east? do you landscape in the winter? how is rebecca's job? is there time to hunt? have you yet bought guns? rifles or shotguns? i suggest a rifle.
seattle is peaceful. the hermetic life is the ONLY life. write when you can. one of these days i will plug the phone in.