Leafstorm
05-03-2008, 05:27 PM
Hi Megan, <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
How’ve you been? Hope you don’t mind hearing from me. More importantly, I hope this email made it through your spam blocker. I had my friend Ted, a writer who spams for a living, help me write it. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
I’ve missed you since we broke up and you moved out – missed you a lot. It hurt me to not see your Volvo on the street in front of our building. So that’s why I came by your new place and stole it. I just wanted to let you know so you don’t worry. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
But I’m feeling better now, about us, so I’m going to get your car back. I’m pretty sure Eddy has it, or José. I’ll find out and I’ll return it to you, as soon as José, if that’s who has it, gets back from <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:country-region><st1:place>Mexico</st1:place></st1:country-region>. I’ll have it washed and vacuumed, I’ll clean out all the paraphernalia, and I’ll give you the phone number of my friend Marcus, the <st1:country-region><st1:place>Viet Nam</st1:place></st1:country-region> vet I told you about. Even with one arm he does the best body work in the city, in my opinion. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
I called your parents the other day and they basically told me to go fuck myself. They didn’t actually say that, of course. Your parents are too polite to use language like that, and that’s something I always liked about them. You, on the other hand . . . I miss the way you could out-swear everyone at <st1:City><st1:place>Quincy</st1:place></st1:City>’s bar. I wish I’d gotten a recording of that. I’d probably loan it to my composer friend Günter to dub and loop into his ambient-gamelan piece entitled “9.2: An Intelligent Forgettable Airport Furniture Force.” <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Your folks told me I should stay away from you or they’d take legal action to make sure I did. I reminded them that it was your idea to host an underwear exchange party at my studio. I hope you’re still not mad about ending up with Stan’s thermals, rather than Randy’s bikini briefs – I saw you had your eye on them, as well as Randy’s bulge. :-) Believe me, I told Stan to wear something nice, or at least clean, but what can you expect from a guy whose home is a refrigerator box, with no second home in the Berkshires. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Your parents said they’d talked you into returning to <st1:City><st1:place>Dartmouth</st1:place></st1:City>. I always liked the name of that college because it makes me think of a fresh water fish you can catch on a lake in <st1:State><st1:place>Michigan</st1:place></st1:State> and take a picture of yourself holding: “Eight pound <st1:City><st1:place>dartmouth</st1:place></st1:City> caught at Young’s <st1:place>Lake</st1:place>, <st1:date Year="2007" Day="9" Month="6">6/9/07</st1:date>.” It also reminds me of my friend Beth who is a true artist when it comes to facial piercing. Your parents said you’d decided to resume your participation in the Outing Club, to finish your degree in International Business, and then get your MBA at Harvard or Berkeley – “only if I can’t talk her out of it,” said your mom about the later. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
I told your mom what you once told me: that you wanted to live and work on a reservation, because of the part in the Dartmouth charter about the college being created "for the education and instruction of Youth of the Indian Tribes in this Land . . .” Your mom didn’t reply to that, so I’m guessing she was touched by your desire to help those less fortunate than yourself. Well, I suppose you’ll now have to settle for having a Native American boyfriend you can help while you finish at <st1:City><st1:place>Dartmouth</st1:place></st1:City> – like the way you helped me during your adventure here in the city. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
I also wanted to thank you for sharing with me that information – it was right after we’d made love while listening to Carlos Nakai’s “Earth Spirit” CD – about the Dartmouth motto: Vox Clamantis in Deserto – "The voice of one crying in the wilderness", which you said is from the Bible. I found the verse in Isaiah 40: “The voice of one crying in the wilderness: Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.” I’ve come up with my own version by translating the verse from English to Hohwoju and back into English. I’m thinking I would like to found a college with this motto: <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
A lone voice cries: In the wilderness prepare, lest a straight highway of the Lord through the desert be made. <o:p></o:p>
Prepare before every valley is filled in, every mountain and hill made low, the rugged land made a plain, the rough country a broad valley. <o:p></o:p>
Cry out at the top of your voice! <o:p></o:p>
Cry out Black Coyote and Yellow Bird! <o:p></o:p>
Cry out Sitting Bull and Big Foot!<o:p></o:p>
For the wilderness cry out!<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
In my college Ted, Eddy, José, Marcus, Quincy, Günter, Stan, Randy, and Beth would all be professors. A Ghost Dance would be held every Saturday night at the Student Union. Whatchya think?<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Btw, I sold the books you left – Schopenhauer and Nietzsche – and bought Stan some new thermals and a flannel shirt. Hope you’re doing well. Keep in touch. Write if you find work on a reservation, or if you find someone less fortunate to help at Harvard or Berkeley. You have such a good heart that way. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Lemal<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
How’ve you been? Hope you don’t mind hearing from me. More importantly, I hope this email made it through your spam blocker. I had my friend Ted, a writer who spams for a living, help me write it. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
I’ve missed you since we broke up and you moved out – missed you a lot. It hurt me to not see your Volvo on the street in front of our building. So that’s why I came by your new place and stole it. I just wanted to let you know so you don’t worry. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
But I’m feeling better now, about us, so I’m going to get your car back. I’m pretty sure Eddy has it, or José. I’ll find out and I’ll return it to you, as soon as José, if that’s who has it, gets back from <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:country-region><st1:place>Mexico</st1:place></st1:country-region>. I’ll have it washed and vacuumed, I’ll clean out all the paraphernalia, and I’ll give you the phone number of my friend Marcus, the <st1:country-region><st1:place>Viet Nam</st1:place></st1:country-region> vet I told you about. Even with one arm he does the best body work in the city, in my opinion. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
I called your parents the other day and they basically told me to go fuck myself. They didn’t actually say that, of course. Your parents are too polite to use language like that, and that’s something I always liked about them. You, on the other hand . . . I miss the way you could out-swear everyone at <st1:City><st1:place>Quincy</st1:place></st1:City>’s bar. I wish I’d gotten a recording of that. I’d probably loan it to my composer friend Günter to dub and loop into his ambient-gamelan piece entitled “9.2: An Intelligent Forgettable Airport Furniture Force.” <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Your folks told me I should stay away from you or they’d take legal action to make sure I did. I reminded them that it was your idea to host an underwear exchange party at my studio. I hope you’re still not mad about ending up with Stan’s thermals, rather than Randy’s bikini briefs – I saw you had your eye on them, as well as Randy’s bulge. :-) Believe me, I told Stan to wear something nice, or at least clean, but what can you expect from a guy whose home is a refrigerator box, with no second home in the Berkshires. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Your parents said they’d talked you into returning to <st1:City><st1:place>Dartmouth</st1:place></st1:City>. I always liked the name of that college because it makes me think of a fresh water fish you can catch on a lake in <st1:State><st1:place>Michigan</st1:place></st1:State> and take a picture of yourself holding: “Eight pound <st1:City><st1:place>dartmouth</st1:place></st1:City> caught at Young’s <st1:place>Lake</st1:place>, <st1:date Year="2007" Day="9" Month="6">6/9/07</st1:date>.” It also reminds me of my friend Beth who is a true artist when it comes to facial piercing. Your parents said you’d decided to resume your participation in the Outing Club, to finish your degree in International Business, and then get your MBA at Harvard or Berkeley – “only if I can’t talk her out of it,” said your mom about the later. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
I told your mom what you once told me: that you wanted to live and work on a reservation, because of the part in the Dartmouth charter about the college being created "for the education and instruction of Youth of the Indian Tribes in this Land . . .” Your mom didn’t reply to that, so I’m guessing she was touched by your desire to help those less fortunate than yourself. Well, I suppose you’ll now have to settle for having a Native American boyfriend you can help while you finish at <st1:City><st1:place>Dartmouth</st1:place></st1:City> – like the way you helped me during your adventure here in the city. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
I also wanted to thank you for sharing with me that information – it was right after we’d made love while listening to Carlos Nakai’s “Earth Spirit” CD – about the Dartmouth motto: Vox Clamantis in Deserto – "The voice of one crying in the wilderness", which you said is from the Bible. I found the verse in Isaiah 40: “The voice of one crying in the wilderness: Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.” I’ve come up with my own version by translating the verse from English to Hohwoju and back into English. I’m thinking I would like to found a college with this motto: <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
A lone voice cries: In the wilderness prepare, lest a straight highway of the Lord through the desert be made. <o:p></o:p>
Prepare before every valley is filled in, every mountain and hill made low, the rugged land made a plain, the rough country a broad valley. <o:p></o:p>
Cry out at the top of your voice! <o:p></o:p>
Cry out Black Coyote and Yellow Bird! <o:p></o:p>
Cry out Sitting Bull and Big Foot!<o:p></o:p>
For the wilderness cry out!<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
In my college Ted, Eddy, José, Marcus, Quincy, Günter, Stan, Randy, and Beth would all be professors. A Ghost Dance would be held every Saturday night at the Student Union. Whatchya think?<o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Btw, I sold the books you left – Schopenhauer and Nietzsche – and bought Stan some new thermals and a flannel shirt. Hope you’re doing well. Keep in touch. Write if you find work on a reservation, or if you find someone less fortunate to help at Harvard or Berkeley. You have such a good heart that way. <o:p></o:p>
<o:p></o:p>
Lemal<o:p></o:p>