Re: postcard: castor & pollux.
[The card that comes back is wrapped in giftwrapping paper the color of canaries. The letter is written on the paper, which crinkles and is wrinkled on the corners.]
Castor,
Today is a yellow day. The sun is shining and everything looks perfect from my window. I told the bluebird you said hello, and I'm sure his return chirp was just for you.
But you asked for a story about the card, and I'll begin with that. It's a busy restaurant at nighttime, and the woman is tired from being at a party with her husband. She's seated with a drink and a bowl of soup, and she's pregnant. Her husband is off somewhere, either the bathroom or talking to friends, and she's seated. Another man comes in, one also dressed from an evening out and known to the woman, and he slips onto the seat her husband vacated. He's so blinded by the woman that he doesn't noticed the soup or drink there. He just wants to sit next to her. See how he smiles down at her belly? The husband returns a few seconds later, and the man leaves, and then he writes angry words on a postcard that he never sends.
I'll tell you a secret that you might not like, but I like the sentiment written on the previous card. I know it's angry, but maybe there's nothing wrong with anger. We get angry, don't we? People get angry. It's honest. I don't even mind the emotion in all that hate. I think it's better to be hated passionately than felt tepidly about. I don't want anyone to know me and just kind of think I'm okay. Love me, hate me, but feel something about me. I bet the writer of the card would have angry sex that ended in tears. I think that sounds beautiful too.
Ashes. Do you smoke? I don't smoke, but I like sitting next to people who do and inhaling the smell. I like the smell of gas stations too. I just keep telling you all my crazy and bad things, and you're going to think you're writing to a nut. But I love the water too. The sea, not rives or lakes. There's no better way to fall asleep than with the windows thrown open and close enough to hear the surf. I tried sleeping to those sounds of the ocean recordings, but it's not the same thing. Maybe it's the smell that's missing?
I do want us to say the truth to one another. I say the truth so seldom, and this seems like a good opportunity for it. If you met me you wouldn't say I was a pessemist, but you can say it here. I think I'm just a little disappointed in the universe. I'm a little disappointed in people too, but don't tell them I said that.
I don't know who I'd take on a road trip. Don't take this to mean I'm solitary. I just don't know who would be best.
Human nature is a strange thing. Does it really change? Just because we evolve and learn and become socialized, does that make it change? Are we the same animals underneath all that? What makes someone human, Castor? What's the point where animal ends and human begins? I know some humans that I think are animals.
We're not fucked. I refuse to think there's not that happy ending waiting. I can hope for yours too.
Yours, Pollux
PS: I think it's politically correct to say you wouldn't fight for it, but I would. PSS: I lit a candle with one of your matches. The candle smells like honeysuckle.