A photocopy of this ee cummings poem that I kept in a book by the same author since high school. I feel like has something to do with a guy I had a crush on.
take it from me kiddo
believe me
my country, 'tis of
you, land of the Cluett
Shirt Boston Garter and Spearmint
Girl With The Wrigley Eyes (of you
land of the Arrow Ide
and Earl &
Wilson
Collars) of you i
sing:land of Abraham Lincoln and Lydia E. Pinkham,
land above all of Just Add Hot Water And Serve--
from every B. V. D.
let freedom ring
amen. i do however protest, anent the un
-spontaneous and otherwise scented merde which
greets one (Everywhere Why) as divine poesy per
that and this radically defunct periodical. i would
suggest that certain ideas gestures
rhymes, like Gillette Razor Blades
having been used and reused
to the mystical moment of dullness emphatically are
Not To Be Resharpened. (Case in point
if we are to believe these gently O sweetly
melancholy trillers amid the thrillers
these crepuscular violinists among my and your
skyscrapers-- Helen & Cleopatra were Just Too Lovely,
The Snail's On The Thorn enter Morn and God's
In His andsoforth
do you get me?) according
to such supposedly indigenous
throstles Art is O World O Life
a formula: example, Turn Your Shirttails Into
Drawers and If It Isn't An Eastman It Isn't A
Kodak therefore my friends let
us now sing each and all fortissimo A-
mer
i
ca, I
love,
You. And there're a
hun-dred-mil-lion-oth-ers, like
all of you successfully if
delicately gelded (or spaded)
gentlemen (and ladies)-- pretty
littleliverpil-
heated-Nujolneeding-There's-A-Reason
americans (who tensetendoned and with
upward vacant eyes, painfully
perpetually crouched, quivering, upon the
sternly allotted sandpile
--how silently
emit a tiny violetflavoured nuisance: Odor?
ono.
comes out like a ribbon lies flat on the brush
Happy Valentine's Day
A song penned by Courtney for our band Kamikaze and the Super Speed Deal, freshman year. I can still hear Courtney singing it. We didn't know shit about love back then.
Love is like the Odyssey, It's long.
Sleeping are awake & reach for you
Love is like the tempting Siren's song
Lonely night & nothing you can do
Chorus:
There is no room in me
there is no room in me
there is no room in me
for you----------
Love is like Kalypso, never let you go
keep you safe from harm
Love is a lotus flower
forbidden and rare
longing for an embrace, it betrays you
Love is like being alone.
Love is like the Odyssey, It's long.
Sleeping are awake & reach for you
Love is like the tempting Siren's song
Lonely night & nothing you can do
Chorus:
There is no room in me
there is no room in me
there is no room in me
for you----------
Love is like Kalypso, never let you go
keep you safe from harm
Love is a lotus flower
forbidden and rare
longing for an embrace, it betrays you
Love is like being alone.
More good advice
I wanted to do a special Valentine's reveal, seeing as this collection is full of sentimentality. The best Valentine I kept was a large, red heart-shaped box with the hand painted message "I love you Stephanie" but my husband made a face every time he saw it and it disappeared years ago.
This letter is from a series. It's closest one to Valentine's and the best I could do. The professor mentioned here is the creative writing teacher that Courtney, Andrew and I had. He didn't like our stories one bit.
Morning has come and by fifty minutes satisfied itself as a new day. I think I'll make it matter. In some respect these hours will be key.
I find it strange the cleaning lady woke you up to inform she would be cleaning. What is it that a cleaning lady does? Regardless the trivial story was greatly appreciated. Concerning stories (trivial and otherwise) I still await a copy of yours. And how is it you can so easily be swayed by the criticism of one (your professor), and why is it I couldn't work that to my advantage? Nevertheless I wish to read your work, and will only be disappointing by it if never given the opportunity to do so.
Sorry to be so cryptic and whatever so that you didn't understand what I meant about Steve. I won't bother to explain. Actually I wonder why you mentioned it when there are infintatly more insignifcant details I'd rather addressed. Perhaps I should apologize again, sorry.
While not departed from the areas of sorry, extend my condolences to your friend Jenny. Guys are indeed terrible creatures, easily the weakness of our species. A soul is lucky to find a single decent one in many a lifetime. As for your guy trouble... I thought your release from Jeremy would make me happy (as you suggested it would) but it has not. I suppose the approximation of an abused cliche terms it proper: two sads don't make a happy. I want you so bad ('it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you') but I want more for you to be happy. Concerning Jeremy there is damnable much I would like to extend, but that is not important right now. What is important is you. For whatever reason he cannot understand or accommodate and so I will, I understand! :)
Someone one advised never to let school get in the way of learning. That's pretty sound I think. I don't believe I'm the best suited to offer any advice about your college crisis, but I would like to try. Two thing seem apparent, Number 1: it's your life for a reason Number 2: you want to be a writer, and writers don't write for other people they write for themselves. What kind of education could possibly prepare you for such a vocation? Only everything that happens to you. You'll find few people who will give you anything you are not willing to take. So if you know what it is you want, and you can have it; grab it. It's only a potential universe for so long.
Perpetually Yours,
Hmm, I'll have to keep rooting around for something sappy. Certainly have some pledge of love I never had the courage to send.
This letter is from a series. It's closest one to Valentine's and the best I could do. The professor mentioned here is the creative writing teacher that Courtney, Andrew and I had. He didn't like our stories one bit.
February 12, 1997
Dear Stephanie,Morning has come and by fifty minutes satisfied itself as a new day. I think I'll make it matter. In some respect these hours will be key.
I find it strange the cleaning lady woke you up to inform she would be cleaning. What is it that a cleaning lady does? Regardless the trivial story was greatly appreciated. Concerning stories (trivial and otherwise) I still await a copy of yours. And how is it you can so easily be swayed by the criticism of one (your professor), and why is it I couldn't work that to my advantage? Nevertheless I wish to read your work, and will only be disappointing by it if never given the opportunity to do so.
Sorry to be so cryptic and whatever so that you didn't understand what I meant about Steve. I won't bother to explain. Actually I wonder why you mentioned it when there are infintatly more insignifcant details I'd rather addressed. Perhaps I should apologize again, sorry.
While not departed from the areas of sorry, extend my condolences to your friend Jenny. Guys are indeed terrible creatures, easily the weakness of our species. A soul is lucky to find a single decent one in many a lifetime. As for your guy trouble... I thought your release from Jeremy would make me happy (as you suggested it would) but it has not. I suppose the approximation of an abused cliche terms it proper: two sads don't make a happy. I want you so bad ('it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you') but I want more for you to be happy. Concerning Jeremy there is damnable much I would like to extend, but that is not important right now. What is important is you. For whatever reason he cannot understand or accommodate and so I will, I understand! :)
Someone one advised never to let school get in the way of learning. That's pretty sound I think. I don't believe I'm the best suited to offer any advice about your college crisis, but I would like to try. Two thing seem apparent, Number 1: it's your life for a reason Number 2: you want to be a writer, and writers don't write for other people they write for themselves. What kind of education could possibly prepare you for such a vocation? Only everything that happens to you. You'll find few people who will give you anything you are not willing to take. So if you know what it is you want, and you can have it; grab it. It's only a potential universe for so long.
Perpetually Yours,
Hmm, I'll have to keep rooting around for something sappy. Certainly have some pledge of love I never had the courage to send.
Catholic School
This letter from my dearest high school pen pal is 7 pages long and written in hot pink colored pencil. FANTASTIC!! Circa late 1993, right after I moved away from MS and took up surfing, tanning and punk rock in Corpus Christi TX.
Hey Stephanie
How's life in Texas? Are there any fine guys? I think we have a shortage (slightly) out here. Well me and Theresa were sitting here doing nothing and decided to write you. Mr Davidson has been keeping us too busy so we're sorry we haven't written.
Well, hows your love life? Over the summer, Theresa's consisted of kissing Jaime Matthews in Romeo and Juliet. If you knew how fine he was, you would want to shoot her Well in July, I had a short & regretful fling with Jamie B. You don't have to chew me out, I have already been chewed out several times. In August, I started dating a friends of Buddy's Greg T. I really liked him and I was going with him (He's 18) until he cheated on me.
But he's still calling me, kissing my butt, and telling me how much he loves me. Theresa can't wait until I get rid of him. Kim & Tommy are still going together & everyday I find out about another girl he has slept with. Kim M. is still going with Buddy. They are always paranoid she is pregnant.
School is horrible. I have to do a report or presentation almost every week for either Mr. Davidson or Mr. Enriquez. Mr. Davidson has this thing about picking on me, and Mr. Enriquez is a Mr. Dav. wanna-be. Mr. MacKinnon is teaching us religion and we are taking a course about the holocaust. It is so boring.
Hey! This is Theresa putting my part in. Spanish is as boring as hell since we still have "Hermano Roberto" Simone always has to show off her knowledge of Spanish. Luckily there are people to entertain the class. The other day we played bumper cars with our desks in class while Bro. Robert turned around. He didn't notice until he turned back around. It was sooo funny. You should have seen the look on his face! Now here's Nicki again I'll come back again.
French II is great. All we do is square dance. Right now, we are making French stores and houses. We went to Memphis to see Napoleon (again). It was soo fun. All the way up there & back we put signs in the car window saying Help! We;ve been kidnapped!! Call my mommy! & "You're tire is low!" SO many people pulled over to check their tires, One person almsot called the police b/c he really though we were being kidnapped.
Well here's the gossip. Sara is big (ger) bitch! She goes and screws college guys on the weekends and takes Ginny with her. Stephanie P. is always getting high. She was hurt real bad in a car wreck a few weeks ago.
David H. is always screwing girls now. But mostly everyone else was pretty nice. Me & Theresa are in the key club & have to clean a highway tomorrow @ 9am. Fun. I was also elected to be a student council representative.
Our football team is sorry since we lost Roger Reed. Our Homecoming is Oct 29 & the theme is Halloween. We are playing Obannon & will probably lose. But our maids are Mimmie M. Lidsay F. The queen is Carol Cashion Meyer. Our float is called "Nightmare on Golf Street."
Well everyone is havig baby boys. Mrs Beverly has a 3 month old, Blake. Holly, my 15 year old cousin is married & has a 3 month old, Seth. Mrs. Dotson has a 3 week old, Jaime & Wendy my 18 year old cousin, has a 3 day old, Saxon Alexander. No, it's not a misprint.
LaDonna & Kim B. are both whores. They "offer thier services" to quite a few people nowadays. We still go to church on Wednesdays, even though it is very boring. We are going on a cotton ride tomoorw night, which might be fun.
I spend a lot of my free time in the downtown library doing research these days. I am finally able to take the car a lot. (Even at night! Aren't you proud!) However, I did get us lost last night in a bad neighborhood. Well my hand is tired so I'm letting Theresa take over.
PS Write back asap and send me a school picture. I'm getting copies made, so I'll send you one soon.
Hey! This is Theresa again. Thanks for sending me all those postcards this summer. There very entertaining. Guess what? I might go to California and visit my relatives this Christmas. It'll be so fun. Maybe I would have a layover in Texas and visit you. You could show me all the fine guys and stuff to do. So have you seen anyone you really like yet? Is he fine or nice or is he a great talker? Inquiring minds want to know. I've seen several fine guys around. They are just a lot older, like college age. Oh well! Anyway I've got to go now, it's one o;clock in the morning but don't forget to tell us what's going on. Write back soon.
W/B/A/S/A/P
L/Y/L/A/S
I <3 Greg!
PS If you ever get bored, read 1984 by George Orwell. I just read it for English & it's awesome!
Hey Stephanie
How's life in Texas? Are there any fine guys? I think we have a shortage (slightly) out here. Well me and Theresa were sitting here doing nothing and decided to write you. Mr Davidson has been keeping us too busy so we're sorry we haven't written.
Well, hows your love life? Over the summer, Theresa's consisted of kissing Jaime Matthews in Romeo and Juliet. If you knew how fine he was, you would want to shoot her Well in July, I had a short & regretful fling with Jamie B. You don't have to chew me out, I have already been chewed out several times. In August, I started dating a friends of Buddy's Greg T. I really liked him and I was going with him (He's 18) until he cheated on me.
But he's still calling me, kissing my butt, and telling me how much he loves me. Theresa can't wait until I get rid of him. Kim & Tommy are still going together & everyday I find out about another girl he has slept with. Kim M. is still going with Buddy. They are always paranoid she is pregnant.
School is horrible. I have to do a report or presentation almost every week for either Mr. Davidson or Mr. Enriquez. Mr. Davidson has this thing about picking on me, and Mr. Enriquez is a Mr. Dav. wanna-be. Mr. MacKinnon is teaching us religion and we are taking a course about the holocaust. It is so boring.
Hey! This is Theresa putting my part in. Spanish is as boring as hell since we still have "Hermano Roberto" Simone always has to show off her knowledge of Spanish. Luckily there are people to entertain the class. The other day we played bumper cars with our desks in class while Bro. Robert turned around. He didn't notice until he turned back around. It was sooo funny. You should have seen the look on his face! Now here's Nicki again I'll come back again.
French II is great. All we do is square dance. Right now, we are making French stores and houses. We went to Memphis to see Napoleon (again). It was soo fun. All the way up there & back we put signs in the car window saying Help! We;ve been kidnapped!! Call my mommy! & "You're tire is low!" SO many people pulled over to check their tires, One person almsot called the police b/c he really though we were being kidnapped.
Well here's the gossip. Sara is big (ger) bitch! She goes and screws college guys on the weekends and takes Ginny with her. Stephanie P. is always getting high. She was hurt real bad in a car wreck a few weeks ago.
David H. is always screwing girls now. But mostly everyone else was pretty nice. Me & Theresa are in the key club & have to clean a highway tomorrow @ 9am. Fun. I was also elected to be a student council representative.
Our football team is sorry since we lost Roger Reed. Our Homecoming is Oct 29 & the theme is Halloween. We are playing Obannon & will probably lose. But our maids are Mimmie M. Lidsay F. The queen is Carol Cashion Meyer. Our float is called "Nightmare on Golf Street."
Well everyone is havig baby boys. Mrs Beverly has a 3 month old, Blake. Holly, my 15 year old cousin is married & has a 3 month old, Seth. Mrs. Dotson has a 3 week old, Jaime & Wendy my 18 year old cousin, has a 3 day old, Saxon Alexander. No, it's not a misprint.
LaDonna & Kim B. are both whores. They "offer thier services" to quite a few people nowadays. We still go to church on Wednesdays, even though it is very boring. We are going on a cotton ride tomoorw night, which might be fun.
I spend a lot of my free time in the downtown library doing research these days. I am finally able to take the car a lot. (Even at night! Aren't you proud!) However, I did get us lost last night in a bad neighborhood. Well my hand is tired so I'm letting Theresa take over.
PS Write back asap and send me a school picture. I'm getting copies made, so I'll send you one soon.
Hey! This is Theresa again. Thanks for sending me all those postcards this summer. There very entertaining. Guess what? I might go to California and visit my relatives this Christmas. It'll be so fun. Maybe I would have a layover in Texas and visit you. You could show me all the fine guys and stuff to do. So have you seen anyone you really like yet? Is he fine or nice or is he a great talker? Inquiring minds want to know. I've seen several fine guys around. They are just a lot older, like college age. Oh well! Anyway I've got to go now, it's one o;clock in the morning but don't forget to tell us what's going on. Write back soon.
W/B/A/S/A/P
L/Y/L/A/S
I <3 Greg!
PS If you ever get bored, read 1984 by George Orwell. I just read it for English & it's awesome!
Someone's Modern Lover
It's these kinds of letter that make me miss having pen pals. It's chocked full of interesting content, stuff you'd never get in an email. I have this great guy to thank for introducing me to the music of Jonathan Richman, who for all intents my son is named after. This is a late letter, probably the last. I might type up the referenced zine.
8/16/99I've been meaning to write for a while now, and I think I've finally managed to wrangle up some free time. I meant to write when I got your zine. I think it's only fair to answer a piece of mail with a piece of mail. An impersonal email doesn't seem to suffice.
I really enjoyed the "missions statement" part of your zine. It's always interesting to hear a person's account of how the got into punk/indie/emo/whatever. Seems as though everyone has a story. You either buy that Fear record and start drawing the Dead Kennedy's symbol on your book cover in the 7th grade or you catch the late late night showing of Sid and Nancy (or in your case "Suburbia") on cable, but there's always some impetus, something that flicks the switch. For me it was my friend's older brother who, at the time seemed SO punk rock. Taking a peek through his tape collection and heeding his advice to catch "Rock n Roll High School" on TV turned me on to four really hairy guys in leather jackets that changed my life.
The mission statement also went a bit into a subject that hits closer to home: voices that men and women take on n punk. I always feel I'm being patronizing when I talk about this subject, so with that said, I hope I don't come across as that. But I see a lot of young punk girls follow around their boyfriends at shows carrying their boyfriends guitars. I wonder why they aren't carrying their own guitars. As some sticker or patch I saw on some Grrrl's backpack: "Punk rock isn't just for your boyfriend" Then again, the most interesting zines I've read are all made by women. Riot Grrl after all, started with a zine.
But who am I to say anything, I'm another boy with a guitar... Never had my girlfriend carry it, I don't think.
Anyway, thanks a lot for the zine. I'll have to add I almost didn't get it. You still needed 11 cents postage, and it was marked postage due. It was well worth the trip to the post office and the 11 cents.
Take care, keep writing
Beyond Mike Bell
Oh good god, these things are a treasure trove of self absorption. Also I'm a bad speller. Submitted by Courtney - thank you!! call me!
Agent Zero,
My mission is complete, the nebuluos [sic] [I LOVE sic by the way] entity known in p roper and highly pretentious circles as my life, has been annialated, destroyed, kaput.
I'm going out with Matt, the guy who played with Candlebox, again tonight. These random people I met at the mall called me and told me to call him. So I did. And now we have a "date." He's a manager at a McDonalds so I know he has a future. Plus (double plus good) he's in a cock rawk, emo, heavy metal band and he's the singer. I'm so excited, I cant wait to be one of his screaming groupies ITs a match made in heaven I tell ya, just like Lisa and her soupa-loser Rick. What's wrong with Lisa's brain? First Mike Bell then Rick the Turbo-narc? I hate em and I've never even met the poor guy-
- I wonder if Josh counts as a gal pal. I mean, I'm as attracted to him as I am to, say, the statue of Old Sully Ross in the square of our school. I mean they both have cute buns, but I have my standards. So anyway...
I assume you got the "Howdy Week" crap in the mail. I say we still go, show up tow days late, molest some freshmen 'babes' and blow the whole joint (figerativly) [sic] after an hour or so. but we have to say hey to all the SAs esp. Conor. Course I sorta miss his pagan ways-
-In other news, Afganistan blew up in a very powerful explosion yesterday afternoon when several drunk teenagers tried eating pop rocks and chasing it with Dr. B. and also...
William S. Burroughs, Americas favorite Heroin Addict died last Saturday, 83 years old when he saw that Davy Jones and the rest of the Monkees were going on yet another reunion tour with Black Sabbath, Greenday, and Marylin Manson. Its called "My Geriatric Physican Said Knock You Out!" Coming to a small suburb of Sulphur, LA, soon.
I love summer jobs.
I love life
I love.... hippies.
The chrome biped
Agent Zero,
My mission is complete, the nebuluos [sic] [I LOVE sic by the way] entity known in p roper and highly pretentious circles as my life, has been annialated, destroyed, kaput.
I'm going out with Matt, the guy who played with Candlebox, again tonight. These random people I met at the mall called me and told me to call him. So I did. And now we have a "date." He's a manager at a McDonalds so I know he has a future. Plus (double plus good) he's in a cock rawk, emo, heavy metal band and he's the singer. I'm so excited, I cant wait to be one of his screaming groupies ITs a match made in heaven I tell ya, just like Lisa and her soupa-loser Rick. What's wrong with Lisa's brain? First Mike Bell then Rick the Turbo-narc? I hate em and I've never even met the poor guy-
- I wonder if Josh counts as a gal pal. I mean, I'm as attracted to him as I am to, say, the statue of Old Sully Ross in the square of our school. I mean they both have cute buns, but I have my standards. So anyway...
I assume you got the "Howdy Week" crap in the mail. I say we still go, show up tow days late, molest some freshmen 'babes' and blow the whole joint (figerativly) [sic] after an hour or so. but we have to say hey to all the SAs esp. Conor. Course I sorta miss his pagan ways-
-In other news, Afganistan blew up in a very powerful explosion yesterday afternoon when several drunk teenagers tried eating pop rocks and chasing it with Dr. B. and also...
William S. Burroughs, Americas favorite Heroin Addict died last Saturday, 83 years old when he saw that Davy Jones and the rest of the Monkees were going on yet another reunion tour with Black Sabbath, Greenday, and Marylin Manson. Its called "My Geriatric Physican Said Knock You Out!" Coming to a small suburb of Sulphur, LA, soon.
I love summer jobs.
I love life
I love.... hippies.
The chrome biped
Deep Thoughts
What I remember about 10th grade was watching SNL religiously, lusting after Adam Sandler, dreaming of having a band with Lisa, and torturing these two guys who had lockers next to us. And she wrote me about 10,000 notes during health class. We really, really liked early 90s SNL and Blossom too apparently.
1-7-1994GOOD DEEP THOUGHTS MAN! You should be a writer for the,! Whoa, I mean, I mean whoa! You know, it's just WHOA!! here's some of mine....
If you are colorblind, avoid traffic lights, cause man, you could get a lot of tickets!
If you want to murder somebody, and you don't want anyone to know, don't murder him unless you are sure no one is around.... No, wait a minute you never know if ants can talk.
If you hear Fatty Magee coming, then you're not deaf!
If you love yourself, boy are you a fool!
Write More Later! Lisa
No Virtual Wonder/No Proxy Bliss
There are so many things to love about this letter, from its pretentious language and it's sweet way of dropping in Space Needle and A Confederacy of Dunces. It's got some good advice too at the end. I am honored to have been this young man's unrequited love.
Dear Stephanie,
Fearing what errors I have commissioned in loves of better days I do this write (right) now. For darker have been the impressions made, but not so when it mattered much. As those days are long and unimportant, all I have are thoughts I think.
My thoughts are not varied or necessarily well crafted. They are singular and devoted in purpose and detail, but unrewarded devotion is not the contents of an intriguing letter. And intriguing letter this must be, before you any more interest in me. Before I lose my style.
On the phone only moments ago (relative) you asked what it was a person had no control of. Among other delights this person or no other has control concerning your feelings. Knowing this ins strange ways I retire these desires for a time and let them trouble you no more.
A vagrant huh? Well that is indeed impressive (by the way I rather like you "Unfinished Picture of a Mon-Tear-Non-Triangles A regular Non-Achievement" Art is everything good about what's wrong with the world.) And I would afford little attention (were I you) wishing for more artistic ability. The perfect of an instant mumbles in a moment. And all for which you have so ardently striven is forgotten in vain. All that matter sin the here and now??
My meager position in the law enforcement community has been interesting enough. Such strange characters frolic about Long Beach and the greater (or lesser, as pleases you) Gulf Coast. Especially at the jail; such desperate faces.
Good luck in your adventures w/ radio free radio. ('radio free radio is a great play on a post war allusion, for a great play on a reference the French Way w/ Indochina resuming in the late forties (i think) and ending in '54 w/ Diem Bien Phu.)
As for spring break, and your plans concerning such, driving around sounds like good wonder. Don't be afraid of leaving the south. Don't be afraid of leaving anything. (I feel like Mirna trying to deliver Ignatius from his room/protectorate/mother/villain boy-friend) Don't be afraid of change either. (Your life is you've done, not what you've missed) As we are not now what were nor now as we shall yet be, and none makes younger - older or any difference to what has been only what will *BE* There is no substitute for this/No virtual wonder/no proxy bliss.
Thank you for the Birthday Wishes and poem. Thanks in advance for the grand indie rock tape.
Yours on the condition that you don't return me for something in a blue,
January 24, 1997
Dear Stephanie,
Fearing what errors I have commissioned in loves of better days I do this write (right) now. For darker have been the impressions made, but not so when it mattered much. As those days are long and unimportant, all I have are thoughts I think.
My thoughts are not varied or necessarily well crafted. They are singular and devoted in purpose and detail, but unrewarded devotion is not the contents of an intriguing letter. And intriguing letter this must be, before you any more interest in me. Before I lose my style.
On the phone only moments ago (relative) you asked what it was a person had no control of. Among other delights this person or no other has control concerning your feelings. Knowing this ins strange ways I retire these desires for a time and let them trouble you no more.
A vagrant huh? Well that is indeed impressive (by the way I rather like you "Unfinished Picture of a Mon-Tear-Non-Triangles A regular Non-Achievement" Art is everything good about what's wrong with the world.) And I would afford little attention (were I you) wishing for more artistic ability. The perfect of an instant mumbles in a moment. And all for which you have so ardently striven is forgotten in vain. All that matter sin the here and now??
My meager position in the law enforcement community has been interesting enough. Such strange characters frolic about Long Beach and the greater (or lesser, as pleases you) Gulf Coast. Especially at the jail; such desperate faces.
Good luck in your adventures w/ radio free radio. ('radio free radio is a great play on a post war allusion, for a great play on a reference the French Way w/ Indochina resuming in the late forties (i think) and ending in '54 w/ Diem Bien Phu.)
As for spring break, and your plans concerning such, driving around sounds like good wonder. Don't be afraid of leaving the south. Don't be afraid of leaving anything. (I feel like Mirna trying to deliver Ignatius from his room/protectorate/mother/villain boy-friend) Don't be afraid of change either. (Your life is you've done, not what you've missed) As we are not now what were nor now as we shall yet be, and none makes younger - older or any difference to what has been only what will *BE* There is no substitute for this/No virtual wonder/no proxy bliss.
Thank you for the Birthday Wishes and poem. Thanks in advance for the grand indie rock tape.
Yours on the condition that you don't return me for something in a blue,
Bathysphere - Catpower
When I was seven I told my mother
To take me to the bay and put me on a ship
Silver swordfish electric
I can feel a dream down here
If the water should cut my life
If the water should cut my line
If the water should cut my mind
Set me free
I don't care
I want to live in a bathysphere
When I was seven my father said to me
"But you can't swim."
And I've never dreamed of the sea again.
Altoids
An Altoids tin with a bouquet of flowers made of sticky tack. Spring 1999.
Stephanie --> some remotely nice 'flowers' my hand tried, but they could fulfill the wishes of the head. Oh, and do not show this to Stuart or keep it in any kind of box.
New Roommate vol 2.
From a series of letters of introduction between my college roommate and I the summer after freshman year. I apologize for the racial and religious satire. Now that both of us are parents, 7am is totally sleeping in.
hello Stephanie
I you're new roommate. I from Swhamingaro (in Africa). My English good yes? I tell about customs. in the first position the more important custom of my is um.. what the word is? indoor pig slaughter. At every noon smearing pig intestines on door of dorm protect from grocery sackers with righteousness (demons).
At every 7 morning the loud whooping call welcome new day. We together can call. Is much fun. We are very close pals after call together for whole semester. I wake you up so no worry about alarm broken. Look forward also to prayer on rug hour outside or GodIwishIwasntbeingexposedtotheelementsonthisdumbassrug as it known in country of my.
What called is your prayer time?
The formal greeting in country of my (performed when you see someone you know well in public setting, every time you someone you know well) (since you be the only one I will know well, I can't wait for others to see our greetings & this learn about my culture) is slap on the ass and say, hey lover, last night was awesome I will greet you and your mother at our first meeting out of respect for the parents who girl who become closest friend. I no greet father. Female never greet male.
I look forward to groovy time with new roommate.
P.S. What mean "orgy"? Your mom want to have me over for orgy? This be formal supper?
hello Stephanie
I you're new roommate. I from Swhamingaro (in Africa). My English good yes? I tell about customs. in the first position the more important custom of my is um.. what the word is? indoor pig slaughter. At every noon smearing pig intestines on door of dorm protect from grocery sackers with righteousness (demons).
At every 7 morning the loud whooping call welcome new day. We together can call. Is much fun. We are very close pals after call together for whole semester. I wake you up so no worry about alarm broken. Look forward also to prayer on rug hour outside or GodIwishIwasntbeingexposedtotheelementsonthisdumbassrug as it known in country of my.
What called is your prayer time?
The formal greeting in country of my (performed when you see someone you know well in public setting, every time you someone you know well) (since you be the only one I will know well, I can't wait for others to see our greetings & this learn about my culture) is slap on the ass and say, hey lover, last night was awesome I will greet you and your mother at our first meeting out of respect for the parents who girl who become closest friend. I no greet father. Female never greet male.
I look forward to groovy time with new roommate.
Totally cool,
Sumata-a-achool!
Sumata-a-achool!
P.S. What mean "orgy"? Your mom want to have me over for orgy? This be formal supper?
Came with a mix tape of early ska.
This letter arrived when I was 19 after a trip back to Mississippi for Christmas. The mix tape was a long time favorite. I wish it still played. This guy was excitable, brooding and dressed like an 80 year old, but had impeccable taste in music. Honestly, typing this letter made me blush.
"I want to be excited but no one excites me"
I hate you. To god I hate you! I want to kick Shawns ass for even introducing me to you. I HATE you! I bet even right now yr looking over this letter at every fucken misspelling and misplaced coma! Aren't you!?! Yr Puzzle theory doesn't mean shit! Because I'm massively intrigued by you. Never have I ever been this intrigued by anyone! I hate you! I was so happy in my zen, my asexuality, my purity! ))If you want to call it that!)) So happily blowing girls off with cheap excuses. "Oh she's too boring" "She lives too far away" "She's young" Oh they were wonderful excuses! But unfortunately they weren't that, they were really true, half truths if you will! But they worked. But buy! Oh GAWD you! Ugh yr EVOL! ugh! You suck! You didn't cower, you challenged! Yr strong, maybe stronger than I am but I'm not scared. I'm facinated! I accept your challenge. I hate you! Why do you have to be so fucken beautiful. I could give a shit about yr looks, I'm talking soul! Why!? Why can't you be just like the rest so I can get those staring brown eyes and cheek to cheek smile out of my head! Having to fight the urge not to kiss you as the raindrops fell. Watching the lightening accent every feature of that well curved face. I hate you.
I watched you slowly circle the wheel of the car with just the palm of yr hands and i wished they were doing the same on my chest. I wished I could have picked you up out of that damn car and walk out right in the middle of that damn stretch of beach pouring rain and all and do everything I was told not to do and vowed to myself that I wouldn't, unless...
Now do you understand? Why I hate you. With your bowing boyfriend, are you really happy with a twig that's so easily broke in half? I hate you! Make me stick to my morals when everything seemed so right!
I hate relationships, dating, love, women, and equally now do I hate you! Why are you so beautiful? lips, tits, hips, soul and all. I'm sorry I ever thought you were shallow. You're the deepest I've met in awhile. I'm not asking you to be my wife or stoopid girlfriend bullshit but I'm strongly attracted. And I wish I wasn't. It's bad I know. But I can't help what I feel. Yr voice still embedded in my brain and that gawd awful laugh still cracks through the air. I said it before, I don't know rather to kiss you or punch you! Damn you to HELL!
If all women were like you, maybe I wouldn't be so full of hate, but all women aren't that's what makes you special. I've said too much. The first 3 songs are for you. The first, I feel totally describes the night I just talked about, in that boxy car, on a rainy night. God I wonder what would've happened if I did have my own place? Well, the other 2 songs, you figure it out. The rest, for listening pleasure.
FUCK OFF! STILL HATE YOU!
Some things I threw away.
- What appears to be a handwritten form letter from a record company apologizing for not having cd's I ordered.
- An eye popping, hyperactive letter from a girl I don't recall.
- A letter from a guy I met on #indierock on IRC in 1996.
- About 50 notes from my best friend in 10th grade.
Well here's one from 5/16/1994
Stephanie,
Uh, her point is? Anyway, I saw a license plate, it read - GZR. Does this stand for GEEZER? I bet it does and I bet a geezer drives it. You still have my 30 cents babe! So you and Jeremy are together! Go you! I bet he won't pull a Mike. Mike is a total asshole! Jerk! he's a carrot flaking jerk. I am so mad at him. What a scum ball! (Golly what is her point?) Sara by the way and Carrot kind of rhyme doesn't it? I can't believe she saw Mike and I haven't! Now I will come see you, -Lisa
A quiz
Written by Lee and only half finished. I did do the word search. Circa 1999.
Name:
*Political Science 207 Exam IV No Cheating Please
1- Why are some cheeses more expensive than other cheeses, often directly related to their yummyness?
a) Funding inequities due to variation in the value of property across districts.
b) Giant lasers in zeppelins used to paint lines on the high ways in Wisconsin mess up some cheese taste & write lower prices on them.
c) The Illuminati
d) Some cheese are made by cows in foreign lands.
2- What is the capital of Fake State?
a) Fake City
b) Fake Capital
c) Counterfeit Fake
d) Milwaukee, Wisconsin
3- What is the most annoying part of trying to find a reasonable cosmetic case?
a) The smell of urine
b) Clear plastic clothing
c) Assassins
d) smack, not nearly enough smack.
4- National average percent of public school employees that are teachers?
a) Just less than 50%
b) 0%
5- Stephanie has made ________________ copies for her job in the last week or so.
6- My foot is kind of itchy right now because:
a) Stephanie's womb has somehow wandered into my foot.
b) Another piece of tile floor is embedded in my foot
c) Is it actually a counterfeit itch, not real at all
d) I stepped on a hedgehog right before class.'
Name:
*Political Science 207 Exam IV No Cheating Please
1- Why are some cheeses more expensive than other cheeses, often directly related to their yummyness?
a) Funding inequities due to variation in the value of property across districts.
b) Giant lasers in zeppelins used to paint lines on the high ways in Wisconsin mess up some cheese taste & write lower prices on them.
c) The Illuminati
d) Some cheese are made by cows in foreign lands.
2- What is the capital of Fake State?
a) Fake City
b) Fake Capital
c) Counterfeit Fake
d) Milwaukee, Wisconsin
3- What is the most annoying part of trying to find a reasonable cosmetic case?
a) The smell of urine
b) Clear plastic clothing
c) Assassins
d) smack, not nearly enough smack.
4- National average percent of public school employees that are teachers?
a) Just less than 50%
b) 0%
5- Stephanie has made ________________ copies for her job in the last week or so.
6- My foot is kind of itchy right now because:
a) Stephanie's womb has somehow wandered into my foot.
b) Another piece of tile floor is embedded in my foot
c) Is it actually a counterfeit itch, not real at all
d) I stepped on a hedgehog right before class.'
Letter to my child
I stashed this letter in the couch cushions of the spare bedroom in my grandmother's house. I remember having to rescue the letter when they moved the next year. It's true, I'm embarrassed about the Tao reference, but overall I think it's an thoughtful and honest treatment of the subject.
1. Lukas 1. Eva
2. Eon 2. Ana
3. Diego 3. Aurora
4. Gable 4. Vivian
5. Jakob 5. Zoe
I'm at work. I just got off lunch. Last night I Karma Odom at the hospital. Her parent, Michelle and Hailey were so happy, proud and loving. I wanted what they had, a new life. A life of my own to love and care for. Something so helpless and beautiful, a representation of the magic and balance that is nature.
I was coming home from lunch and I was thinking about getting married and kids and what not. This lead me to reflect back on when I was young. What I wanted, what I needed, what I believed turned all to dust. I'm not sure when, but at some point in putting away childish things, I feel like I got old too fast. Maybe it's this 8-4 job where I sit in an office and thumb through files. At first I hated it, but now I've grown accustomed to this light. It's a particular way of seeing things. I used to want to write novels and change the world. What happened? I'm getting off track, this was supposed to be a positive message.
Somehow, I'm reminded of a boy I knew all of my freshman year. He left a lot of things unsaid and at the end of the year he had only to say that he wished he had told me. I knew what he was going to say, sometimes I wish he had, but he didn't and things turned out a certain way. The twists and turns of life are no consequence, I suppose. Take things easy and without stress. Stress is for people who cannot follow the paths their lives take them. They are forcing other paths making life too complicated. Believe in yourself and that which you have been given.
I wish I had been more easy going and laid back when I was younger. I'd have better memories of those times.
If I'm ever like a total straight laced fuddy duddy (what a weird word) and I'm stressed about work or whatever just remind me that I'm straying away from tao. I hope I still believe in Eastern Philosophy. I hope my husband doesn't make me be a Christian or anything horrid like that.
Oh and I had to decide whether or not I would be a strict mom. My parents were and I hated it. Now that i think about it, it wasn't so bad. I think it helped me make better decisions on how to live my youth. Besides, those parents who like all smoke out with their kids scare me. It's weird. I want yall to have the same ideals I do. I can't make anyone think a certain way, but I'd like to see my kids grow up aware and alive instead of mute and conformist. It's so much easier to see the world clearly though open eyes than through hazed eyes shaded by society.
I hope I'm a good mom. I think my mom did a pretty good job. Sure I was mad at here when I was 15-17 but I got over it. Actually, I went to college. Best decision I ever made. College is super cool. Rent free living on your own terms. Who could ask for more?
Don't get all mad at me and think I'm being irrational. I'm not so great at always being logical. A super-emotional kid like me always lets "stuff" get in the way.
I wonder if I'll still be in to the same things. I wonder if I'll drive 500 miles to Guided by Voices when I'm 30 years old. I wonder if music will still be a big part of my life. I wonder if I'll watch TV or shop at trendy grocery stores. I wonder who your father is. It's so much more fun to be a kid and hang out then to be a grown up.
I hope I have a good job, not some boring 9-5 office job. I guess this is just me venting some things that are on my mind. I started to say some things that would better help you and I relate. It's hard to see old people as once young. I hope I'm always young at heart. If I'm not, if I'm completely lost in the old people world of money and bills, remember there was once a time when all I ever did was go to concerts and hang out drinking coffee and writing lame short stories.
The future is uncertain but I know I'll love my kids and I'll try my best to help them discover the world and themselves. Life is so short. It scares me that I can already see h ow quickly time passes, how years slip away. I'm still young, I think.
Oh and you should get good grades, cuz high school is ez and college is the most fun ever. Even the best day or night of high school pales in comparison. So get good grades so you can go.
Don't do drugs, cuz they are boring and make you sit on the couch for a long time, when you could be out living life. and plus they suck.
1. Lukas 1. Eva
2. Eon 2. Ana
3. Diego 3. Aurora
4. Gable 4. Vivian
5. Jakob 5. Zoe
June 9, 1997
Um, hi.I'm at work. I just got off lunch. Last night I Karma Odom at the hospital. Her parent, Michelle and Hailey were so happy, proud and loving. I wanted what they had, a new life. A life of my own to love and care for. Something so helpless and beautiful, a representation of the magic and balance that is nature.
I was coming home from lunch and I was thinking about getting married and kids and what not. This lead me to reflect back on when I was young. What I wanted, what I needed, what I believed turned all to dust. I'm not sure when, but at some point in putting away childish things, I feel like I got old too fast. Maybe it's this 8-4 job where I sit in an office and thumb through files. At first I hated it, but now I've grown accustomed to this light. It's a particular way of seeing things. I used to want to write novels and change the world. What happened? I'm getting off track, this was supposed to be a positive message.
Somehow, I'm reminded of a boy I knew all of my freshman year. He left a lot of things unsaid and at the end of the year he had only to say that he wished he had told me. I knew what he was going to say, sometimes I wish he had, but he didn't and things turned out a certain way. The twists and turns of life are no consequence, I suppose. Take things easy and without stress. Stress is for people who cannot follow the paths their lives take them. They are forcing other paths making life too complicated. Believe in yourself and that which you have been given.
I wish I had been more easy going and laid back when I was younger. I'd have better memories of those times.
If I'm ever like a total straight laced fuddy duddy (what a weird word) and I'm stressed about work or whatever just remind me that I'm straying away from tao. I hope I still believe in Eastern Philosophy. I hope my husband doesn't make me be a Christian or anything horrid like that.
Oh and I had to decide whether or not I would be a strict mom. My parents were and I hated it. Now that i think about it, it wasn't so bad. I think it helped me make better decisions on how to live my youth. Besides, those parents who like all smoke out with their kids scare me. It's weird. I want yall to have the same ideals I do. I can't make anyone think a certain way, but I'd like to see my kids grow up aware and alive instead of mute and conformist. It's so much easier to see the world clearly though open eyes than through hazed eyes shaded by society.
I hope I'm a good mom. I think my mom did a pretty good job. Sure I was mad at here when I was 15-17 but I got over it. Actually, I went to college. Best decision I ever made. College is super cool. Rent free living on your own terms. Who could ask for more?
Don't get all mad at me and think I'm being irrational. I'm not so great at always being logical. A super-emotional kid like me always lets "stuff" get in the way.
I wonder if I'll still be in to the same things. I wonder if I'll drive 500 miles to Guided by Voices when I'm 30 years old. I wonder if music will still be a big part of my life. I wonder if I'll watch TV or shop at trendy grocery stores. I wonder who your father is. It's so much more fun to be a kid and hang out then to be a grown up.
I hope I have a good job, not some boring 9-5 office job. I guess this is just me venting some things that are on my mind. I started to say some things that would better help you and I relate. It's hard to see old people as once young. I hope I'm always young at heart. If I'm not, if I'm completely lost in the old people world of money and bills, remember there was once a time when all I ever did was go to concerts and hang out drinking coffee and writing lame short stories.
The future is uncertain but I know I'll love my kids and I'll try my best to help them discover the world and themselves. Life is so short. It scares me that I can already see h ow quickly time passes, how years slip away. I'm still young, I think.
Oh and you should get good grades, cuz high school is ez and college is the most fun ever. Even the best day or night of high school pales in comparison. So get good grades so you can go.
Don't do drugs, cuz they are boring and make you sit on the couch for a long time, when you could be out living life. and plus they suck.
Lyrics
A series of song lyrics written on the front of an envelope.
What did you see, my blue eyed son, what did you see my darling young one? I went out in the forest and caught 100,000 fireflies, as they ricochet around the room, they remind me of your starry eyes. Any thought could be the beginning of a brand new tangled web you're spinning, any one could be a bran new love. If I were Napoleon, you could be my Josephine, we could go to drive in films, in my red convertible. And yes I think a kiss might change you, warnings are for people with their eyes closed, you might as well put tape on all your windows. My soulmate is a special girl, some one's who's just like me. Don't think twice, it's alright, you just kinda wasted my precious time. It's a holiday in cambodia. We ain't go no place to go, so let's go to the punk rock show. We're in love, let's kiss. I believed everything you said you cause you had what you had over your head.
A printed quotation on a scrap of paper
"When a true genius appears in the world you may know him by this sign, that the dunces are in confederacy against him" Jonathan Swift
The Giving Tree
This doesn't appear to be a letter but a loose scrap of paper. It bears the name of the young man who was my guide on the pilgrimage to Chapel Hill, NC around New Year 1998.
In Athens, GA there is this tree that owns itself. It lives on one of those typical southern streets named after a flower where one side is restored Victorian home and the other side is something less. Some may say that all trees own themselves and this is likely. The land was left by a boy who loved and was loved by the tree. (I'm assuming we've all read that book) he became a man and more and when he left this earth he remained in his love for the tree. The land is donated to the tree and circled by a foot of concrete fence. A plaque commemorates the occasion. If all trees owned themselves than this one owned the boy.
We make our own barriers, city limits and titles to tie us to the earth. The tree has that natural right. It needs not compete, it takes up space and that is enough. The tree that owns itself owns us. For all our ideas about belonging and our respect for our wishes, even after death, the tree continues on in ignorant bliss. One man's last wish will mean nothing but a quaint story. The story the boy at the record shop told me when I visited charming, Athens, GA.
In Athens, GA there is this tree that owns itself. It lives on one of those typical southern streets named after a flower where one side is restored Victorian home and the other side is something less. Some may say that all trees own themselves and this is likely. The land was left by a boy who loved and was loved by the tree. (I'm assuming we've all read that book) he became a man and more and when he left this earth he remained in his love for the tree. The land is donated to the tree and circled by a foot of concrete fence. A plaque commemorates the occasion. If all trees owned themselves than this one owned the boy.
We make our own barriers, city limits and titles to tie us to the earth. The tree has that natural right. It needs not compete, it takes up space and that is enough. The tree that owns itself owns us. For all our ideas about belonging and our respect for our wishes, even after death, the tree continues on in ignorant bliss. One man's last wish will mean nothing but a quaint story. The story the boy at the record shop told me when I visited charming, Athens, GA.
Summer in Harrison Co.
The summer after my freshman year (1997), my best friend and I wrote dozens of letters back and forth complaining about our miserably boring jobs and small southern town lives. I guess this one never made it to the mail, but it's pretty representative of those days as a bored, self involved 18 year old.
Courtney,
On Monday night, I made two phone calls. I called Jenny and talked a bit and I called Christian. At first I was going to be soupa bitchy to him, telling him he sucked for not staying in touch. He had some lamer excuse about why he didn't write back. The he all started talking about his summer, blah, blah. It was at this point, I realized Christian, like most boys I run into, is a Big Fucking Dork. As the mighty, mighty Freddie Mercury would say, "another one bites the dust." Brought your Queers cd to school, eh? I finished your book, the Margaret Atwood, not the book you wrote, That book is still sitting on my dresser but I'm having trouble reading it since it doesn't exist.
Jenny told me my high school boyfriend was dating a 16 year old girl that was rumored to be "kate moss" beautiful. He's about to turn 21. Life goes on. I hate Shaun. He's ultra annoying since I "broke up" with him. I said we could still be friends but the whole "worship the ground you walk on" thing is getting stale and old like some spagettios you forgot to throw away. A big, frustrated blech!
How's Jason? Where did you go out of town this weekend? Now that my house is all finished you can come visit and have a real bed to sleep in. Next Monday, I get out of school. I'm thinking about something drastic. So what about Orlando? Or let's go visit Jenny for a week or go to Portland or Alaska. I need to leave before Shaun gets me a lobotomy in order to make me his love slave. Not that he's much of a lover type. Nope. I tell you, I only miss Jeremy when I haven't gotten laid in a few months. Sad, but true.
Oh by the way, I'm Stephanie and I'm your new roommate. I like to have sticky three person sex in other people's beds. I hope you don't mind. Have you ever seen Chasing Amy? It's a swell movie by the director of Clerks. I had a very interesting conversation about those movies with the guy whose car I wrecked. It was way fun. Go see it, eh? Pass me a beer, eh?
I am, I am, I am superman and I can do anything. 30 days, 1 month til time to leave this bottom of the trash barge town. 24 working days. How's your prostitution business venture going? Mine is swell. I've got two venereal diseases and a big cow as a prop. Woo whoo! Big party! Every one's invited to have a piece of the fun.
I just drove 40 min with no air conditioning on some "Red Ass" errand for work. I'm in what some people refer to as a "bad mood." Have a "nice" day. - Steph
SCMLA
This letter is written on stationary from a college job, it mentions a cat I still have, I'm not sure when it is from or whom it is about. It reveals to me how cold I can be when I'm very upset.
My friend, crick has left me presents of dead flea bodies on my bedspread. The bodies don't bother him, after they too have passed, but I'm disconcerted with idea of sharing my sheets with their corpses. Also with the sharing of an old sheet set, sweaty and smelling of too many hours with one human I used to call my friend. The term is off-limits now and I try to accept the situation with grace, It's such a preoccupation (the sheets, not the term) that the current solution has eerie finality that I haven't quite accepted with any form of grace.
I have always thought this, as I have let go of many things I cling too long to. It is not for me to say whether or not passage will be given. It's not in my hands. How odd.
Crick, the indie rock cat. He's pawing my pen as I ruffle his neck fur. He's happy I saved him from being locked in a spare room and I'm happy he's my friend. I've had friends that made promises always before in quiet moments after a smile and a stare. Crick has never promised my anything. After looking at my writing with some curiosity, he settles near my hip. He nestles his warm body into my spine. The perfect place for a friend, cat or human.
According to the last few days, I've lost a friend. He told me with thick fingers around my forearm. I was trying to get out the door, not his life. I could hear everything he said while I watched his lips move silently. I already knew too much about what was going on. It makes sense for a friendship with a history of doom and dark clouds to end. Its makes a rational decision to avoid interpersonal communication with someone you fancy that also you are easily made very angry with.
to Matthew Paris
I don't recall if I sent this letter, but I thought it was important enough to make a photocopy and keep it in a box for 11 years. I never spoke again to the young man who is the object of this affection. I did make edits because it was really long. Crazy long. No wonder this kid never talked to me again.
July 27, 1998
I listened to you talk for six hours. It doesn't seem that long; a short work shift, a day at school, the drive to Mexico or Oklahoma. In six hours a lot or absolutely nothing can happen. I know I've watched TV for six hours straight or talked on a computer, staring and trying to make sense of a screen.
I don't think I said much. At some point you invited my thoughts but they weren't at the ready. The scene was set for listening. Me who does all the talking, all the demanding, was speechless or perhaps more aptly, without thought. For the most part, I felt stupid. Speaking a risk, especially about yourself. Something that view of language does not take into account is what is revealed by listening. Words, phrases, movements add depth to the content of the dialogue. That's why it sucks to talk when I don't have complete control. Well maybe not complete, that can get quite tedious.
What I learned wasn't anything about anthropology. The subject/object line I have heard before. Besides if you don't have that, you don't have anything unless you have a simple alternative. "Just is" is a catchy phrase, but it falls short in explication because of the limits of our language. It stands to reason that syntax and semantics is based on such Western ideals, but our language -based on the Indo-European root- precedes Descartes and perhaps even Aristotle. (Who as you say is the source of all such problems)
Anyway, the point is I had seen it before. Ideas from books are applicable only to the individual. I think you made that point yourself. What one person takes away and uses makes up the meaning. A kernel is kept inside the brain to stumble over and wonder why does that keep coming up? An idea is so small in comparison to the world, it's value lies not in itself but in the patterns it helps to make.
I've been noticing some patterns, thanks to you. A few things fell together in that magic Joyce created, epiphany. (If can only hope my achievement in life was to define a human emotion. He wrote a long pretentious book too boot, the man must have been a god.) The most striking thing I noticed is that I don't actually know any one who is interesting. I read interesting things in books; things and people and stories, but in real life the people I com across are good for a few laughs, a shoulder to pout on, ventilation, etc. Now I guess hardly anyone actually knows someone who is interesting. Interesting being based on the breadth and width of personality that spans across five minutes, but six hours?
If you said everything there is interesting about you in six hours or in five days, it doesn't matter much. If I tried the same thing, I'd talk about my interests; maybe mention a few bands, some academics, it would last five minutes before I'd apologize and say, "I don't know, I guess there isn't much." Truth is there is more, everyone has more. Most people can't talk about it. They are hardly willing to embrace themselves much less ready to systematically present it for critique.
Is that what it means to be an interesting person? The ability to hold some one's attention to silence them with interest?
Listening to you was like getting sucked into a great biography on A&E. You realize you are not actively participating but you want to know what happens next. Not how the story ends but what happens along the way.
Why don't I know anyone like this? Where do you all hang out? Denton? Athens, GA? It's a part of my life missing in College Station. I keep thinking about leaving this place and looking for something novel and inspiring out there. I'm looking for flashpoint of innovation. Someone interesting, I suppose?
There is so much about those six hours to think about. I'd like to write a short story about it, but when I try I leave out all the most important parts. It's a story about the South, of lineage and matriarchy, lost causes, brilliant youth and an honorable trade. The making of a story in the tradition of a new south. Sadly, you are the one with the great story and I'm just the appreciative listener.
Well it's late, I'm tired, and Pinkerton is over. For the most part, this is what I would have said if I had two days to mull it over and then call and tell you. Have fun in Athens and all your chosen adventures. Take care.
Stephanie
To Bust Magazine:
Letter found tucked into a spiral notebook, circa 2002.
Dear Bust,
Whenever I think about feminism, I remember the two people in my life I've known well enough to identify as feminist, Amy Joy and my old boss Lauren. I'm sitting Borders finding books relevant to questions I've been asking myself about liberalism and your magazine catches my eye. "The Music Issue." Right before I crack open it's semi-glossy pages, I think to myself, I don't read magazines like this. By this, I mean feminist. So I read it cover to cover, set it aside and go upstairs to try and find a travel book on New Orleans that has descriptions of churches to I can start to plan to get married there.
Now here's my troubles about Feminism, not that you asked. Lauren took one look at me, when I showed up to be her graduate assistant, a work study gig that barely scratched the enormous financial burden that was my flirtation with hard core academics, and I decided I was "cute." When after months of working for her, she asked what my MA thesis was about she was impressed, surprised I would be interested in something critical. What that means, I don't know, perhaps it's unexpected for young women to be attracted to gears of critical theory and structural analysis-- that may be so. When she called me a breeder in front of a colleague, I stopped answering her emails. What could I say? I do not disagree with her politics, and as the lowliest of graduate students in the most power hungry place I've ever personally experience, did I have a choice?
One night after a conference Lauren stopped me on my way out (Her brain no doubt charged from the electric conversation, my feet sore from keeping a cadre of middle aged academic happy and in plenty of diet coke for 10 hours). She said, "You have to tell me more about what you said about activists." I had mentioned in the elevator that since the topic of the conference was how to encourage young women to take up the feminist/queer issues, perhaps they should think about the things of particular concern to those women. For example I say, I know a lot of kids who think of feminism and think of activism and that stuff is for old people.
What I mean was the kind of sexual politicking, the banner waving enthusiasm that was popular even in the 1980s and Rutger's Take Back the Night protests. I met this girl who may yet still be a grad student who told me midnight march stories with such glee that I wondered why she bothered to finish undergrad at all. I failed to see any tangible good of marching around. Well other than having a good story to tell about how you got Ani DiFranco to play, and oh aren't you so very cool.
When I think of activism, I think of small breasts. Girls with little boobs, wearing green tank tops. Girls with long waists and low cut jeans, short dyed hair and nose rings. I'm aware that's a very media saturated image of activism, but I've rarely met a feminist, riot grrrl or even a hipster with any decent sized bosom. Well I have huge breasts and short waist and I'm not even skinny. You couldn't pay me enough to wear a tank top in public. So is it I'm to big chested to be an active feminist? I can't pull off the look and anyways who's going to take me seriously, huge boobs and heterosexual. I might as well start planning my picture book New Orleans wedding because I'll never be one of those girls.
I've always felt as if there is so much more to being a woman then gets covered by feminist publications. Yeah sure, there is sex and anti-glam and body and film, but about regional identities? Ethnicity? Family? How do we fit into a society as whole, not just one hyper analyzed part? The question I always felt feminists should ask themselves in the morning is: Why is being female a special category?
Amy Joy is the hippest person I have ever met. She embodies a free spirited, ultra liberalism, the kind that people on the right are really afraid of. She worked as a stripper, she went to elite colleges, she travels, writes, reads and is incredibly charming. Honestly, I couldn't stand being around her. That's my own feelings of resentment towards skinny girls with little boobs who feel good about their bodies. My eyes just roll and I tuck my head back into Negative Dialectics.
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