Josey, remember wandering through the bush behind my old house? Remember running through fields of glass in the afternoon yellow-gold light, amazed that this could be us – that we (us!) could be running as we were running could be amidst the kind of thing we were amidst? Reveling in the ‘bush’ – the bush for bush’s sake. I mean really? Can you remember that? The vision of that, or if you can, the feeling? Remembering wandering around slowly, with a look of wonder, trampling over old logs and strange things, even spider webs were welcomed in a strange way – we loved it all. We were so wise. So wise and so young. We love so purely and we live so purely. These lives we live – they’re pure, they can’t help but be pure. They’re inextricably pure. They ooze purity from their every pore, we cover them up with our make up of meaning and even now in using a metaphor too far I feel dirty, like some kind of whore, all dolled up for the show when really I just want a hug. I just want to hold hands, and kiss softly. Sometimes thats all I want. A lot of times. A lot of times I don’t feel these things I’m told to feel but I still feel. I keep telling myself that just because I don’t feel as they want me to, that I’m still feeling. I feel linked to you in some way. Even though I know we’re different, even though I hear you speak sometimes and I think ‘Josey’s a fool’ but at the same time I know I’m a fool to you. I must be such a fool. I mean I probably seem more a fool to you then you ever do to me. But then it doesn’t matter, i’m talking like it matters but it doesn’t, it doesn’t matter. What matters is I feel linked to you. I feel like we feel the same some times. I can’t invest too much in that, I’ve learned that. I have to own this link. If I feel that something I feel is in you, then thats that, its felt, its done, in a way that can’t be undone no matter how you refute or accept or reject or rejoice or whatever it doesn’t matter your response its that I felt the connection. I feel this link with people and it feels damn good, but then what happens is you get all invested and then they say something or you say something and they give you a look and you start thinking maybe its not that way and maybe its not. But maybe its not right then. But it was when you felt it. You know? It was when you felt it. I mean everythings real so whats it matter if someone supposedly feels it or not? It matters because of how you feel. I mean YOU. and by YOU i mean ME. How I feel is what it comes down to in the end, and by the end I mean now. I mean just getting to the end of the idea. Fuck I’m distracting it all again. I just mean: if you feel its there, in that moment its there, its validated. In that moment, if something exists, it exists, and thats that let it be. Let it be true. Give it that, at least. Its what it deserves, it earned that truth. Nothing can be true forever. I mean I try not get all science-thinking but the big bang supposedly came from nothing. NOTHING. nothing. you know. no time, no space, no matter, NOTHING. and then BANG. existence. so even existence hasn’t always existed. nothing can withstand eternity so if something happens to have some kind of meaning at any moment revel in that moment. fuck but you probably know all this, I mean its all an exercise for myself anyway. I mean thats what talking is in some way. jacking off in each others faces hoping that our cum can lubricate the others’ jacking off. I don’t mean to sound all manic, it’s funny, my thoughts are pretty nice, pretty pure, unadulterated, simple ideas, maybe laced with wine and maybe thats why they are the way they are but they sound all crazy in type. I just don’t want to lose you in the mania, I want to hit something off in you. I’m sending this to you cause I feel a connection to you with this idea. I feel that this is something you’d like. I send this email to you because I feel that of all the people in the world this email is most relevant to you. But you know, you can’t exclude me, sure theres me. But theres me in you. And I can only really react to the you in me. As you can with the you in me. I wish I could see your face, am I losing you? Am I boring you? It’s all loss. I think thats why we prefer face-to-face one on one. Or at least talking some kind of stimulus. You know, though, it all sounds pretty fear-based. I mean why do we need verification that we’re on the right track. I mean sure it feels good but do we really need it? I mean you could say we need food every day right? But fuck, theres kids out there going for days without food, maybe even a week. So its not a matter of need anymore. Define need. It’s a matter of want. We trade the terms like theres no difference between them. We trade need for want because of this very thing I’m talking about: we’re afraid that we’re unworthy of what we want so we say need. Let us fucking want. Whats wrong with want? We need nothing. We are nothing and need nothing. All we are is want. So let us fucking want and come to terms with what it is we are. There I am, side-tracked again, its a fucking bitch, You try to make yourself clear and you end up talking about grasshoppers or grass or some shit which sure has its relevance and its all nice but fuck you might confuse who you’re talking to, might lose them amidst all this noise you’re shouting at them. I mean sure, accept that its all truth, but sometimes you have to accept what you’re doing when you’re communicating: you’re simplifying infinity into some kind of jumble of symbols in some hope of concurrent sublimation. But I say hope like its kind of hopeless but really its the hope itself that we get off on on. We love the conversation before we see the recognition in our listeners eyes’. They’re affirmation of our truth is just the icing on the cake.
I got real lost just then. Lost amidst some jungle of words and language and symbols and conceptualisations. Its like what I was talking about initially: running through the bush. I mean its all the bush, so its all fine – there’s no such thing as running too far, but at the same time, theres a reason we were both out there together. Sharing that bush has something special in it. Theres a reason we were out there together. It’s this phenomena of existence. We look sideways as we run through the high grass. Sure its not about the look on eachothers faces, or the grass, or the sunlight, or any of it – it’s all of it. So it is and it isn’t. I rarely get reflective like this – in fact, only recently have I been going over memories and realising how rarely I do this and how nice it is, but it’s not some kind of love for youth or naivety. I don’t love how little we knew, or how foolish we were or anything like that. I just love that we did that, and the fact that I love that means I could do it again. I can’t help but feel that other nostalgia’s are a kind of regret – a way to regret the current state of their being and glorify the past. Fuck that, I want to love my former self for what I’m still capable of. I see myself running through fields for the rest of my life. It’s the life of the catcher of the rye. I mean all this. You know? I mean it, Josey. Mean. Sometimes periods are more than exclamations. I don’t know sometimes how to get through to someone, especially when I’m limited to words. Otherwise I’d grab you by the shoulders, hug you, shake you, scream at you. But you know? Do you remember? Do you really remember, or have you forgotten? It’s fine if you’ve forgotten? What’s it matter to me? But I just want to know. Do you remember the fields, the grass, the yellow sunlight? Or do you remember something else?
