PHONE CHAT HINDERS LETTER CORRESPONDENCE

A,

THANKS FOR THE PHONE CALL LAST WEEK. IT REALLY CHEERED ME UP IN MY TIME OF NEED. BUT BECAUSE WE CHATTED, I DIDN'T WRITE! SO I AM WRITING TO YOU NOW. FINALLY SITTING DOWN IN A LITTLE COZY CORNER OF MY BUNGALOW IN VENICE, FULLY INTENDING TO USE THE BETTER PART OF TWO HOURS TO DEVOTE, IN WRITING, TO YOU.

I WANTED TO SHARE A SHORT STORY I HAVE WRITTEN WITH YOU:

ORIGINALLY I HAD GIVEN THIS IDEA TO A FELLOW WRITER FRIEND OF MINE, ONE WHO COULD HAVE REALLY SCULPTED IT WITH RARE ADJECTIVES AND ELONGATED SENTENCES, VISUALLY REMINISCENT OF SPIDER LEGS, WHICH IS THE STORY'S SUBJECT. BUT THEN I WAS TOO EXCITED TO LET THE IDEA FALL OUT OF MY FINGERS ALTOGETHER. SO I'VE TAKEN IT BACK.....

COMFORTABLY SITUATED IN THE V OF THE UPPER LEFT CORNER OF THEIR BEDROOM, A LOVELY LONG-LEGGED SPIDER SAT TWIDDLING HER LONG-LEGGED LEGS. SHE HUMMED A TUNE MANY A MALE SPIDER HAD SPAT AT HER WITH SILVERY THREADS TRYING TO SNARE HER; THE TUNE HAD BELONGED TO THE DOORS BEFORE SHE HAD CAPTURED IT AS IT DID RESEMBLE HER SO WELL. "HER ARMS ARE WICKED AND HER LEGS ARE LONG, WHEN SHE MOVES MY BRAIN SCREAMS OUT THIS SONG–" HER HEART THUMPED WICKEDLY.

DESPITE BEING WOOED CONTINUALLY BY THIS SONG, SHE HAD NEVER BEEN TEMPTED BY ANY OF THE HANDSOME BROWN MALES THAT SCUTTLED AND JUMPED HER WAY. THEY WERE ALWAYS TOO FORWARD, TOO–FOR LACK OF A BETTER WORD–JUMPY. SHE WANTED ROMANCE AND LOVE FROM THOSE MALE SPINDLES, BUT ALAS, THEY WERE ALWAYS BEING EATEN BY OTHER FEMALES. INSTEAD SHE SET HER SIGHTS ON A VERY DIFFERENT ANIMAL. A BLONDE, TALL, AND QUITE HANDSOME MAN NAMED MICHAEL. IT WAS HIS BEDROOM IN WHICH SHE TOOK HER COZY RESIDENCE. SHE LIKED THAT HE CRANKED THE HEAT, LEFT CRUMBS IN THE BED FOR HER TO FEAST ON. IT DIDN'T MATTER TO HER ANOTHER ANIMAL OCCUPIED THE SAME BED–SOME FEMALE WHO DIDN'T CRANK THE HEAT AND CERTAINLY DIDN'T LEAVE ANY CRUMBS FOR HER PRETTY PINCERS, AND MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT LIKE HER. OFTEN SHE'D POINT UP THE THE CEILING CORNER WHERE THE SPIDER AND HER LONG LEGS CROUCHED ADMIRING MICHAEL; THAT POINTING FINGER, FULL OF ACCUSATIONS, BECKONING MICHAEL TO PERFORM HER RIDDANCE. OH MISS SPIDER HATED THAT GIRL, BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT SHE WAS, A DISGUSTING GIRL, WHO DIDN'T SMELL NEARLY AS NICE AS MICHAEL. BUT THAT STENCH DID NOT DISSUADE MISS SPIDER FROM PUNCTURING HER SOFT SKIN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT TO CAUSE GREAT ITCHING AND SWELLING THE FOLLOWING MORNING. MISS SPIDER DELIGHTED IN WATCHING HER LONG-LEGGED HANDIWORK.

AND WITH MICHAEL, SHE TOOK GREAT CARE WITH EACH BITE, ONLY INJECTING THE SMALLEST AMOUNT OF VENOM, SO AS NOT TO ITCH, BUT JUST TO NIBBLE, AS IF GIVING HIM THE DAINTIEST LOVE BITE. OH SHE LOVED HIM. SHE LOVED HIM ALL OVER, PIMPLING HIM WITH TINY LOVE BITES. HE'D AWAKE THE NEXT DAY WITH RED DESIGNS, DELICATELY SPELLING OUT LOVE POEMS, ALL DISCERNED FROM DOTS. AND MOST OF THESE DOTS OCCUPIED HIS ARMPITS, WHERE IT MUST BE WARM AND RIPE WITH PHEROMONES FOR THE LITTLE PEST, HE THOUGHT.

................................

WELL, WHAT DO YOU THINK? I HAVEN'T FINISHED IT OF COURSE. BUT THERE IT IS.

I FIND IT A HUGE RELIEF TO WRITE TO YOU. I'VE BEEN MEANING TO FOR TWO WEEKS, ALTHOUGH IT FEELS LIKE MUCH LONGER. THESE LAST FEW WEEKS HAVE BEEN HARD AS MY PREVIOUS LETTER DRIPPED IN TORMENT. I CAN BE QUITE DRAMATIC. BUT TO MAKE MY DRAMA WORSE, I GOT FOOD POISONING. I THINK FROM THE ICE AT A DIVE BAR. AT LEAST THAT'S WHAT SEVERAL OTHERS CONCLUDED, SINCE I WASN'T THE SOLO SICKIE. I WISH YOU COULD HAVE BEEN HERE TO TAKE CARE OF ME. TELL THE LOUVRE TO HOLD ON. AND TELL THE TATE THERE IS A MAN MORE IMPORTANT TO RESTORE THAN DALI AND BARTOLOZZI COMBINED. HA! WHAT WOULD THEY SAY? THEY WOULD THUNDER, "EROS AND PSYCHE WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN!"

BUT YOU WOULD COME TO ME ANYWAY, WIPE THE VOMIT FROM MY CHIN AND STILL THINK I WAS SEXY AND GOOD LOOKING.

WELL I HOPE THIS LETTER REACHES YOU BY WAY OF STEADY HANDS AND HEARTY MINDS. WOULDN'T IT BE WONDERFUL IF EVERY PERSON WHO TOUCHED THIS LETTER BETWEEN LEAVING MY HANDS AND ENTERING YOURS WROTE A LITTLE MESSAGE ON THE OUTSIDE OF THE ENVELOPE?

SOMETHING SMALL OF COURSE. JUST A FACT. OR A SENTIMENT. "IT'S SUNNY AND I REGRET WEARING PANTS." OR PERHAPS SOMETHING LIKE, " I DETECT THE SCENT OF LOVE ON THIS SEALED EDGE, SO I HAVE CARRIED IT THROUGH MY ROUTE IN MY BRIEFS." FOR ADDED SCENT?

LOVE,

B

snail mail versus fed ex!

sweet B,

what on earth. why, for heaven's sake, did you send your letter overnight via fed ex? i just finished reading it. i don't know what to tell you to comfort you. all i can say is you are awfully young to be concerned about your legacy. but i can honestly say i feel those feelings and they creep in when i don't want them to. but don't hesitate to write. ever. always bleed yourself with a pen because you will be understood now and in the future as well as the opposite. besides you're not writing for the people who will dismiss your writing. you are writing for the people who take great care to pick up your words, read them aloud even, and then fold them up, tuck them in an envelope and share those beautifully crafted sentences with someone else who will hold your offerings in the breast pocket.
i'm fed-exing this letter right back. i don't think it can wait, because i never want you to be in pain.

love and fog,

a

ps i love the sunset. let the sun set on you in blazing orange tonight.

FEAR AND NOT FEARING

A,

SINCE YOU'RE ADOPTING THE LOWER-CASES, I'LL TAKE THE UPPER-CASES. THERE, HOW'S THAT? BUT PLEASE KNOW, THE LIGNAN OF MY LETTERS DOES NOT MEAN I AM YELLING OR OVER EXCITED.

I'M FEELING EMOTIONAL A. IT'S SUNDAY AND I'VE HAD A MIXTURE OF ACCOMPLISHED TASKS, SUNSHINE, GREEN'S BEER, INTELLIGENTSIA COFFEE, AND TALKS ABOUT FILMS AND BOOKS AND PLAYS. THE COMBINATION OF THOSE THINGS GETS ME TO THINKING ABOUT THE WEEK AND THEN FURTHER BEYOND, ABOUT MY LIFE–WHAT I AM ACCOMPLISHING AND WHAT I HAVE NOT YET? IN TRUTH IT MAKES ME THINK OF EVERYTHING I WANT TO CHANGE AND AM JUST NOT ALTERING QUICKLY ENOUGH FOR THIS FAST-PACED WORLD. NO, I AM NOT INADEQUATE OR LAZY. BUT FEARFUL, I RELUCTANTLY ADMIT, I AM. I SEE IT IN MY WRITING, IN SOME VIDEOS I'VE MADE. IT'S FUNNY ACTUALLY: I CENSOR MYSELF EVEN IN MY PRIVATE JOURNAL. NOT FOR FEAR OF SOMEONE PICKING IT UP AND READING IT TODAY OR TOMORROW, BUT OF SOMEONE PUBLISHING IT AND YEARS FROM NOW READING A SECTION ALOUD AND IN REACTION TO THE PASSAGE TO SAY, "I KNOW HE NEVER WOULD HAVE FELT THAT WAY, ANGRY AND MEEK, WHY DID HE LIE LIKE THAT?" ISN'T THAT COMPLETELY SILLY AND IRRATIONAL?

THANK YOU FOR YOUR PICTURES. I ESPECIALLY LIKED THE CEILING OF THE GLOBE. I NEVER WOULD HAVE TAKEN A PICTURE AT THAT ANGLE. I PROBABLY WOULD HAVE FOCUSED ON THE FLOOR OF THE STAGE WHERE ALL THE ACTION HAPPENS. BUT I SUPPOSE THE CEILING IS JUST AS IMPORTANT, BECAUSE ALL EFFORTS EXECUTED ON THE STAGE ARE IN AN ATTEMPT TO PIERCE BEYOND THE STAGE, THROUGH THE CEILING, INTO THE HEARTS OF THE AUDIENCE.

MAYBE THAT'S IT A, I DON'T KNOW WHO MY AUDIENCE IS FOR, OR EVEN IF I HAVE ONE. AND THAT IS WHAT IS SCARY.

I DON'T WANT TO FEEL THIS WAY. I HAVE SUCH CONFIDENCE ABOUT THIS YEAR. I KNOW GOOD THINGS WILL HAPPEN AND YET I STILL LET MYSELF FEEL THIS WAY, THIS FEARFUL & SMALL WAY. WHY CAN'T I CONSTANTLY BE BUOYED? ......I SUPPOSE THAT WOULD BE OBNOXIOUS.

HERE IS A PICTURE FOR YOU: THE FIRST SUNSET OF 2011

photo courtesy of Rebecca Cox.

LOVE, SALT, FEAR, DEPENDABLILITY,

B

P.S. DON'T SECOND GUESS YOURSELF, OR YOUR STYLE. I LOVE YOUR HEPBURN-ESQUE LOOK, YOU AUDREY GIRL.

P.P.S. IF YOU SEE THE KATE MOSS EXHIBIT AT THE LOUVRE WILL YOU SEND ME PICTURES OR A BROCHURE OR SOMETHING? I'M INTERESTED.

LOVE AGAIN.

caffeine and cummings

hi B,

lovely, good on his word, B. i've decided to adopt cummings' short stature of lowercasing all my letters. all letters shall be lower case from here on out, all except for your name B. (xx) it makes me feel artistic amongst so many flourishing and world-stopping artists. the job has been very demanding lately at the tate. and everyone is all in a bother or either a giddiness, me, i am in the giddy group, over the coming exhibit to feature every piece of art that is kate moss-related at the louvre in paris. we are wondering how to compete. but we still have our hands full.

i've just had my 3rd cup of tea (kombucha green). i had gotten into the habit of drinking coffee again. it's so easy to slip into it. it's as if i have tiny magnets in my body and every brew house, quaint coffee shop, and counter made crunchy from grinds, turns up their electro-magnetic force when i enter a 5 mile radius, and the pull drags me inside despite my "nos" and "i can'ts" and i end up inside with the café colored steam rising into me delighted nostrils. yes, i have a sickness. but what scares me the most is i like myself so much better on coffee. i am happier. i feel i can accomplish anything–no task is too great! bring it on! and the even scarier thing B, is that i think everyone likes himself better when boosted by caffeine. except not everyone is better on this beautiful, wonderful coffee drink. i see people, all day long, with paper cups, thermoses, mugs, in their hands, swigging, and smacking their lips. and i see people in their cars reach over and over again to that middle console where their treat sits perfectly in the cup holder, and i notice them become more and more aggressive on the road. america is even worse! the whole country runs on starbucks and now intelligentsia, because it's just that much better and more expensive. at least tea still reigns here, it keeps everyone buzzed but not vein-pulsingly rocketed.

anyhow, it's been one day and i already miss it. should i buy a bag of beans and grind them just in case? no, no. tea is sufficient. i guess.

i'm having a very adult day. i say that because i just got off the phone with my insurance company. everything becomes difficult when dealing with an hmo plan. it's useless. i'm not going to get into it, but i wish i didn't have american insurance, i wish i lived in sweden. although!! good news for men in england: starting in april, men will have 6 months leave when their child is born. women receive a whole year. so england is adopting sweden's policy for post child birth leave. it's very exciting. i wonder if more and more babies will appear so that the new families could have 6 months together. wouldn't it be amazing if america had something like that?

i would take my new child on an adventure. my little family would take the train up the pacific coast highway all the way to seattle, stopping in portland, oregon and perhaps some other lovely destinations. we'd see the water almost everyday and have that smooth pace of a train underneath us. the little one would grow up wanting that movement always underneath it. we'd picnic in portland and get acupuncture, just as the land does in that quirky town. and my love and i would nap under tree like ferdinand's with the little one between us covered with a checkered picnic blanket. and then we'd awake and have mimosas. and we'd make flower necklaces, but for our hair....

maybe i should be at the louvre, and not the tate. people are so serious here. i want to frolic in stripes and a red coat, not a rain coat. i wish truffaut would have put me in a movie. that is, if i were alive at that time.

and lastly here is a picture, as i promised, a treat from across the pond.

a view that i see every day on my way to work:

it's gray as usual. it's a view from the new millennium bridge to the old london bridge. we are always looking back on the past, in my case, usually fondly.

and this one is from my favorite area in east london, brick lane:

it has a rougher edge than the smooth, alabaster white façades of high kensington. and it's vastly more interesting. the streets are crowded with all sorts of interesting people. and there are trash piles to look through and then very expensive boutiques where i give away a lot of money!

and lastly, most beloved, the ceiling of the globe's stage:

can you imagine acting beneath that? already the ceiling is better than you! but how magnificent.

miss you B. miss america. and the pch. kiss it for me today, ok?

love love and rain,

a

xx

Radio and Catholicism

My Dearest A,

Well, well - Miss England has decided to take up letter writing. Might I inquire, do you take tea time as well?
I purposely took my time writing back to you, in order to acquire some news to report. I must say, your memory, not so distant I might add, is still in tact: I hate leaving the house. Perhaps I will make a new year's intention to venture out my front door more often. I have an excuse though, LA has been so cold of late. Alright, alright- I'm dropping the whole English bit now.
When will you come visit? That'll get me goin'. I'm gonna start up a list of places to entice you with. And I'm going to make them all within a 5 mile radius of my front door step!
You asked if I have been reading a lot. Mmm hmm. When am I not? I thought about doing something constructive with all this reading, like shaping up a review for each play, each article, each book I read. What do you think? I could even start reviewing reviews, but of course I'd have to read the material too.
I've been listening to a lot of radio too. And ....... da dah da dahhhh ........ I have been volunteering at the college radio station. So go fly a kite Nurse Ratchet! I do leave my house. I'd like to option some radio stories and have them made into films. Would that ruin the magic of it? There is something sacred about pure audio. At first I thought a television series for HBO, but Mr. Ira Glass has snatched that genius idea. Check Joe Richman's Radio Diaries projects. Fascinating stuff. I'm keeping busy. And I read Patti Smith's memoire. Beautiful. She has this beautiful beginning, as a child, she goes into detail about her conversations with God. She would make up her own prayers for him and entertain him with these tales she'd come up with. And I remember my own little self being very frustrated with Our Father and Hail Mary. No one ever explained to me what "hallowed" or "tresspass" meant. So I wasn't sure why I should give a fuck. And I would talk to him too in that familiar way. And there is a clear memory I have of a father giving his homily-you know what that is? I guess you Jews call it Derasha- at St. Pius, a round-shaped church with pastel colored windows that looked like they were made out of crystallized sheets of communion! I was in the back, there was standing room only, which meant it was probably a holiday like Easter. And the father was talking about Plato. He was a real philosopher and very "in" with the young crowd.....and my mom bent down to ask me what he was talking about. I think she had been in the bathroom. And I said, "Oh he's really into Playdo!" But I heard everything he said. Maybe that's when I took a real interest in philosophy. Anyway I bet Patti Smith would have taken those words the same way. She's a cool cat. Up next is Keith Richards' memoire.

I give you all my best Love,
B

P. S. And now to take a moment to describe the intricate dust piles that are gathering inevitably in the corners of my apartment. I describe with glee: Well in one particular corner, there's one shaped like a castle out of Lord of the Rings. And when I am really stoned I see turrets and drawbridges. If you're lucky I'll take a photograph of these master sculptures and enclose it in the next letter. That is I am assuming this is going to be a love letter affair.....xx

New Address

Hi B,

I thought I'd take the time to sit down and write you a letter. Afterall my address has changed, and what better excuse to write to inform you via snail mail. You will find the address on the envelope of course. So this new flat makes it my.......21st move in my somewhat young lifetime? Hmmm. Do you think moving so many times could make a person flexible and a non-materialist or perhaps the bordering vagrant lifestyle makes a person disconnected from the earth, never satisfied, always searching.....? I see both within myself. So please do not trouble your notebook to answer that one.

I must say it feels nice to grasp a beloved pen, "Le Pen," and write to you instead of typing on the mundane and the deliberately designed-to-tap-softly keyboard of a laptop. It has been so long. And it will be so exciting to pick out a stamp for your envelope. Perhaps I am getting carried away.....but don't you think the stamp is the finishing touch? A final image to close the message?

What do you fill your days with? Books as usual or have you actually ventured outside? I walked to the park this morning so I get a star! There was a peculiar dog in the park; he was sitting on a park bench mistaking himself for a human perhaps. But he looked quite regal sitting there, head held high. He was one of those English setters, with the freckles on the nose? I saw him and I suddenly realized I have lost all of my freckles. No sun in this English rain. It's going to get old. But at least the air is cleaner than where you are Mister. Perhaps that is why you don't leave your little man cave? You should anyway. It'll inspire more reading and perhaps a letter or two to me. In fact, do it for my sake. I don't want to read your reply that talks about the dust piling up in the less-traipsed corners of your apartment. Gross.

Anyhow, I love you. And I am thinking of you. If you're good, and write me back I'll enclose something special next time.

Love,

A