Letter from the U.S.-oct 4th ' 07

Those who forgot me would make a city, I remember how Joseph once said...must be the case with me, i believe...
Conversation was akward and blurry from now on...
She said how Gummi Schwester asked for additional thousand dollars per letter from now , although she admitted how she enjoyed correspondance very much....

My funds are reachable but certainly limited, ma'am ?
Funds are what your have in plan dear, but not what you already placed on your maximazer, right?
I do understand your meaning , ma'am...however...
However is not an option in this case, unless I am wasting my time... Am I?
Certainly not..ma'am...
Good..Now, for additional five hundred per letter I can possibly feed you with a solid substance and that is per letter , of course....
Oh...I will be honored, of course...but..
But what ?
I don't mean to be out of line , however I have to underline here once again, how my sources are not much...really...
Is there a solution ?
Is it ?
Gummi Schwester remained quiet here for a few...
I am sure there is always the exit strategy...
Oh, Schwester...anything..anything... no letter would kill me...
Write this number.... Call him in San Fran... he 'll do snuff with you...he will pay you...
Have a paper and pen ready ?....
Joe Broz stood on the entrance door of the aluminum scrape and steel factory in Whittier on monday four in the a.m.. looking good, looking even younger by day and an extra hour.. His first chance...put bread on the table, get nintendo, score mota in Lincoln Park, read Bukowski all day long, but is it gonna be days off ?
Who you... chubby fourty and somethish white guy approached him not fairly friendly...
Becky Mendez sent me...
You kid Joe ?...
Sure I am sure...
Stan, the guy stated looking straight into Jo, now don't get wise with me, ok...
I didn't...
Then don't sure me..ok.... and you skinny.. this place boils you up... you sure about this... go look at it...
Jo worked twenty two days straight before he got his first day off and it was a lousy monday...
They all go to work I sit home... Then he slammed another shot of hormone injection, first one that day... a slight bite surpressed his left shoulder..then it was gone...
Comedian, I gotta be a fucking comedian with all this...oh man...
Another two months passed and checks kept flowing in every thursday....Miserable amount but it was there... for his rented studio on wilcox and santa monica, it was always there and enough...
Then it came as an everyday thig all of a sudden...usually it would get him after lunch, around two or an hour later, somtimes earlier... and he even didn't notice right away...he spotted a whitish liquid substance spreading like a tenhand earthworm on his dusty steel joe...
then he ran...without asking, he ran to the restroom...screw the line, dudes, I,ll be back...they all looked at him...
so it became always on time and accurate like a metronome...
those who forgot me would be make a city..but who cares...he didn't...he didn't !!!! Jo Broz was milking !!!
Pretty boy, what's cooking ? James Patterson, black guy from Watts, who who's once to be a writer but wrote so bad......Pretty boy, happening....? Lebron Davis, black guy from Lennox... Being to Lennox, Pretty boy ? Gangbangers and laundry hangers...not much...would love that...Pretty Boy like you....oh....
Jo looked at Labron's tattooed muscle on the right upperhand...
by June, Jo had a situation.... His worked coat was covering milk drippings just fine plus he had a box of clenex and wet tissues anytime...
By august he was a C cup and around the same time his voice uncontrolablly high piched for a good half octave... Screw it...I,ll be advertasing... whatever... I,ll do street walking if neccessary, what else...screw work... Labron was living any minute after six, happy as friday... How bout them Raiders in Miami, huh.....Going nowere, you could here Patterson from behind... Jo, you for the Raiders ? Yeah, Jo almost whispered...he looked at the filthy, blackened tiled floor of the washroom..Patterson was gone....
You little girl, aren't ya... he couldn't believe Davis saying it....you little girl aren't you, Broz...Lebron grabbed Jo's left hand and now they both stood still...Fuck Joe, huh...fuck Joe...Davis was looking through his innerness now...Fuck Joe !!!
Lebron , please...stop it...Joe was fading quickly...
twohundredandsixtypounder held Jo's hand tight and firm...What is the girl's name ?
Then he decided to turn tables finally... At first, Coco wouldn't know even what to do... Davis told her how his pink bunny was suffering from thyroid and seven years from her birth weighted almost onehundredandfifty pounds... That's bad, Coco disapproved quietly...
Bad ? Davis stood frozen... that ain't bad, girl..that is a full force case of obesity..it affects her emotionally...And she don't congregate at all... she sees no one... Coco was still quiet...she was able to vomit and spit on Labron...she even shits the guy, but was she ready for sisterhood....
But Labron was almost right.... Lakisha ballooned up to onehundredand sixty by the end of the year.. She examined Coco's red latex short skirt but she didn't say anything... She barely noticed her shiny black overknee pair of boots, her silk gloves with couple of fake rock on four fingers, both hands two of each... Coco's enormous blonde and curly wig that was reaching her hip, fireish lips of red and layer of purple make up stacked by shovels...
You so skinny, Coco, I am so fat... yes you are Lakisha.... You are so skinny , Coco... And you are fat, Lakisha... You are skinny, Coco... Fat.... Fat no good, Lakisha... You are a new mom ?... You are fat, Lakisha...end of story....Fat Lakisha...
But gradually, they both overcame a simple form of a first time acquaintance glich...
Coco told her about her miserable childhood and her dreams of being an actress of some sort one day, Lakisha told Coco of her mom killed by Bloods in north long beach and how she met Mariah Carrey... You did ? You met Mariah ?.... Lakisha stayed quiet for a second, nah...I did not...Then Coco told her about Dzugashvili first runaway from Georgia, about Adi's try at the Munich art school... And about Koby's trip to Colorado, Lakisha added giggling...tremedenous, girl, Coco approved laughing louad now... Bravo... and guess what, Lakisha added right after... The world might be one day up another down... but sticky thing is always at my panties-drawer... And after nine in the p.m...when the girl was already asleep, Coco would finally get the chance of the day, to collared and dragged by Labron's dog leash drop her semen in panties-drawer... so the world was good to go up and down for another day now..
But instead of blaming herslef for this or that, this world would certainly grant a constante disturbance to Coco, no questions about that... Around one a.m. she would lay at the carpet floor with Labron leaving her urinated and bloody wounded around her lower lip, with his baton sticking out of her ass...Who the hell is now,she would wonder, but the phone kept ringing, died and kept coming back and seven times like that till she actually reaccumulate enough potency to get up her sore frame and pick up the damn thing...
Selam and thank to God you picked it up...
Oh...
I am leaving , girl.... I got accepted...huuuuh..yeaaaha... sorry, goood muslim should tolerate his accordance with Allah much better, sorry... But I can't !!!! I am in !!!....
Naguib...
Naguib, baby... God who else...
I can't believe they got you in...
Why not... I had everything...
But you are old and blind...You barely able to walk... Naguib...Coco almost cried...
Listen...All them russians care is , what..
Money ?...
Money... But as a muslim, I do hope that I 'll still be able to preserve my responsibilities.. I will fast..
In space?
No worries... My imam even encouraged me... he said, no worries Naguibson, Islam is lenient, if you can't fast in space, fast when you come back and do your dues, son...
huh...what's ya think, hanuma ?....He also gave me suggestions on how to pray...It is a zero-gravity around you so ...
Huh ???... Coco was astound...
You pray, but if you cannot stand up straight, you hunch....makes sense... Now, if you can't stand , you sit.You can't sit, let's say, You lie down..huh....
Naguib...it is... I don't know..it is dangerous...don't you think...
Oh shut up, will you for once..huh... I can die from a crazy radical, here in Egypt, how's for that?
It can kill you... a space suit weighs twohundredandeighty pounds itslef.. it can squash you seriously... you're old...need daily ingrediants in your system..
I can get it...
Nooooo.. carrots and celery must be eaten within in the first two days...
Oh, i,ll be fine.... Now, tell me , you.... You write lately...
Not since I read autumn quail...
Oh drop it, will you....
hahaha..sorry.. No...well, yes...some...I guess..
So you write..
I can put it that way...
With plot?
Naguib, I am going for my surgery next month.. You are departing upstairs...We might never see each other again... might never hear one another... tell me something nice...
and you'll jerk you cock ?
hmmm.. If you want me to...
Yes...The old man took a short pause which gave Coco to sense another emergency siren dying somewhere down on Melrose... Don't say of death my love, don't say of daying... I can relate to you any given day, you know that much by now, right ?... And your art of dropping your own sticky substance in Lakisha's panties-drawer is not less worth it then me jodding down those first mighty lines of Palace of Desire, or Walk, or Sugar... it is all of love and death and evil...
Other words in stanzas ?
Other words in steazas... No metter of what...
The heart, however grown savage, still beats for two
Every good boy deserves fingers to indicate
that beyond today is always a static to-
morrow, like subject's shadowy predicate....
Damn he was good...
Sure he was, hanuma...sure he was....
Good luck, Naguib
Good luck, Coco...

Letter to the U.S.-oct 3rd ' 07

I am definitely a lonesome hobo, am I? There is something in me being sarcastic ( sort of), reminds me questionable of Celine's North novel... The war is lost, type of the imprisonment is inevitable, thou still he has enough time left ( less talking of inspiration cause that kind of a talent don't need one, I think) to write something of that magnitude... But on the other hand my father would be less interesting from my exhibitionist view... Two of them ( him and Luis Ferdinand) had a notorious grudge, for what... oh, for what.... My mother was a dismissed nun out of Nagkanysha monastery in south Hungary... it took her the entire living to get by in the simpliest form of russian...the expression of an everyday kind... Zdrastvujte was the best she would ever get by with... From her prospective thou, the oblast where we lived in Nizny Novgorod was a most livable status for a daily action that she ever acquried.. according to my pops ( years after he was released from prison ) , the city was giving and waiting people to give to it as well.. Musician were scarce... however, our greatest Majka Rusia was never know to present lack of them writers, poets, losers of a different but pretty much same sort.. I still hear my father typing on old Olympia...how those days flew by me... the snow would come and go and on a good year, it would even stay... Now it is good to know before I start talking here how all them imprisoned fathers were eligable for a postcard or two to their families especially considering those remote faraways that our cared parents were dispatched for their counterattack on this great kominterna... However, we got the book... The book of more then fourhundred pages, even five.. I dug myself into it right away, that same instant.... even thou I was seven and let's be fair and admit, quite illiterate... Finally I gave up on ( pardon me for spacing out here ) must be, some fourteeth page or so... Later on, my mother read it and shaved her hair after reading it... Less for her severly attacked womanhood at that point, she bounded herself with marama and kept on visiting both prodavnica and apotek sort of a business as usual, I say... On the other hand I would go over next ten pages every, l say, three months , which is from this prospective one lousy and miserable pace, but I was seven, reminding you, too youg for Cancer Ward, most honestly... Now, dad was abolished around early 1983 and placed his living frame at the door early january of 1984... Him bearded and a skeleton skinny , me nicely rounded , overfed by koncentrat and napolitanka , we got to watch together the opening day of the Sarajevo Olympics... Him on spinach and milk, I myself tanking up my favorite keksi again , we all did good.. Even are tovarishi kicked but in biathlon, speed skating, Ice hockey,thou lost in figure skating which was fairly unusual... Meantime, I looked at my father and I wondered about that beard of his, whather he is going to shave it off or keep it growing...That was out of question, he replied, nothing but the grave will make a hunchback straight...
Now, that is tovarish Bordky, isn't it? He looked at me curiously...I am glad you recognize fine art at such an early age, Natalushka.... ten months later we moved to Palo Alto... I had a terrible time adjusting myslef to a completly different constellation that the original one where I was shot from... It was a real hussle, trust me... but my smartness gave a rich and unusual tool of mastering that ( looking from time now ) pretty much easy learning language with lack of cases and speech appendixes... Father became a regular at Stanford, meatime he received his late pansion from the swedish academy which waited for him since 1970 when he won the Nobel Prize... And here we are...all of a sudden rich and welcomed...even the old Soviet dominions fell apart and they all went for Glasnost..I did too... And as them all fine and well doing kids do at the certain age and in the certain state of california, my dad and mom's objections on my ethical dispute of a great school in Palo Alto became all of a sudden full of sense and with one moral and healthy motive...
Let it go, Ilona, now..let her be, my father finally admited...Mom's doubted and cried for some ten days , then submitted herself under the great patron's dicision....next day, I was at two bedroom rented apartment in Westwood Village, next door to the campus in UCLA...then next day I met Jade Von Sade... She was twenty one years my senior, age of my mother exactly... Fortunatlly in took her ten days to overcome a fascination by my father and transfer her geniusity to myself and stay focus for awhile... Other people were never able to accomplish that...why?... I don't know, but my assumption is, let's say ( cause we all know what the world wants), is that I was just not fully developed physically at that time...Other people would talk and talk about stuff I would be hearing since I was a kid... How Ivan Denisovich was much greater work then The Idiot... How Archipelago was a cornerstone of this world's modern knowladge and awerness... How this how that...well, you can only imagine... But it took less then ten days and Jade Von Sade told me how she scanned a great girl with even better background right away, That is the reason why I picked you at the first place...but, my dear, lously , lously style you have...for the moment it looked like you are still in Russia the way you are clothing yourself... I got instantly offended but she sensed that...Not a word, please, not one word...She took me to this store at Fairfax and Melrose...it was throught the roof for my budget cause dad was rather cautioned on how much he would strached me monthly..I went broke for another thristy days but what's more important , since then, not before, but since then, I am all rubber...On occasion I was still following french literature classes up on the campus, but less to conceal, I was learning much more by prostituting myself ...back then, pink bunnies were everywhere, rich houses less rich houses...People were sick up to their eyeballs no matter on their social or even emotional position... Jade was running the show while I was assisting... decades ago in Portland , she took classes, meant to become a registered nurse some day....she knew tricks of all sorts...it depended on price , of course, but she was skillful with drugs, shooting testosterone, artificially motivating hermaphrodism by the injection treatment... Bizarre area then of a surgically removed nipps and a late stage circumsations...Her advice at the same time was that my savings should be nothing but a full force investment which would be aiming for my redevelopment... Therefore, my first surgery took place in Scottsdale when I was nineteen...that was with 550 cca..then 750, then 1100, then 1300, then 1700. then 2000. then finally 2200...Now all of a sudden, I was the one running the show... I looked as a socially acceptable freak, sort of an occasion to enjoy but not to live daily...I was transported by limo, given three thousand just to appear and drop my turd or just plain, vomit ..I was selling urine samples and shipping used tampons by mail... Dear Jade, however, passed away of cancer and I put up the site on the internet...
So what to say... on this third of october I feel contempt that I can answer to you, you empty one and negligent of your position....less then five months ago I received an email...
Dear Natalia... My name is Grace Mayer, know as a turbulent churchizer. yes, that one, a national proportion one, my dear... Your site rather tranquilized my imagination and reopened my inner creativty which through this last decade had experienced a fair lack of boost, I guess taking to much for granted my twohundredandfiftypoundokietrashhousewives fromVictorville and Bishop in California...
let's do coffee?
Now..we did..what can I tell you....A clear and present saint who had a most gracious premonition riding on the amtrack through east st. louis back in the middle seventies on her way to cash one fraudulent money order endorsed for fifty dollars then.. and now, I am even part of a beautiful congregation ..part of Grace...so, feel free to see us... we so much pretend to stay out of crowd, which is hard , especially for her.... We had two fat women from knoxville checking in usually a day early, ironing her clothes and making sure all beds at the triple virtual suites are ready and soft... now yearly, Grace, she picks one most eligable pink bunny from her church academy in Joplin...No reason to hide anything, Grace once said, broken eggs make me grieve; the omlette, though, makes me vomit..( which I replied...oh dear Joseph, can you get any better).....It is a blessed ministry, the lord would surely grant it, she said then ... I guess he does...I guess he really does...and what I inherited from my great Jade was at least that rare and demanding skill of incouriging that middle and always an imagination tempting form of a parasex in that tiny human being, hermaphrodity...And one more thing I gathered by now... I'm good with pinpricks...Real good

Letter from the U.S.-sep 29th 2007

On a Pink Bunny comotion day. Dear Goddess, hope you are doing just swell...

I lost my younger sister yesterday...she died piacefully in her sleep...or maybe she did not die...but, she is seven years younger then me and situated in Timsoara what used to be Hungarian Temishwar... She was long time married for a train attendant name Kosta who's family were jews from Zayechar... Kosta was the only holocaust survivor of the entire family of a well know yugoslawian glassmaker Ludwig Kraus...

Rest of them were deported to rather remote areas of northern Poland and there is no trace of those peole, what so ever...Kosta was raised at the pig farm near town of Cervenka and he emigarted to Romania in early fifties ... Romania was building it's railroad slopping the entire country across the Tranisilvania all the way to the Black Sea... He met my sister in Budapest in fiftysix... the revolution was on and the russians were firing up engines for the final cut which took place some few days later... After that, blood was spilled everywhere.... Kosta took Kelly (my sister) too live with him...he got the job as a farmer-telegraphist which was a most common call back in the day in the country which was basing it's exellence on petolyetkas, an economy five year old time frame plan jacked from early lenin post revolutionary era...basically what he would do, in the afternoon he would be planting watermanlon and yaprak, a strange sort of cauliflower which was originatined in bukovina.. morning were all for the working class. Kosta was making sure that all the telegraph action has been dispatched and received right on time...silly everyday things like news for the local radni secretariat instructed by the headquarter in Buchuresti...every day had it's own tesk and it own level of accomplishment..there were certain party wings ( odsyex) which were sometimes not able able to meet the quote of a grain income in the corn warehouse or a straving mountain areas the would failed to produce enough coal required by the norm, but those were not too many and if it was any from time to time, the kominterna was making sure that the officer (komandilni) would be just on time to spit on a traitor's face and shove the bullet in poor fellow's head...Kosta was making sure that the headquaters of the nation was listing the village of Samorsko as just another fine obeying settlement ready to work and report suspected counter revolutionists..and that was the case...the time was getting nastier and more fucked up day by day..plus,there was a brand new rocker on a rise...Nicolai Ceusescu...

For his soldiering work and a dedicated relationship to the party, Kosta was promoted and schooled..He was sent to voz-kurs in Belgrade, sort of a railroad academy to put it that way..

Kelly was all of a sudden Kalina, which was more slavic which was again more preferable in terms of garvitating toward our mother Russia at least by the name of a citizen...

Kosta took classes very seriously expecting his final test not by the Belgarde school master but from his own party back in Romania..Surely the guy decided to get himself ready...

meantime, my sister would spend her dull afternoons at the Moscow hotel in downtown Belgrade ...

Like any other ordinary woman back then she would be drinking numerous kafas and smoking cigarette after cigarette.. That saturday she saw him for the first time...He was a tall and handsome thou quite skinny which was a business as usual in physical terms for serbian men... His name was Mesha...

two o clock in the p.m. every day..no missings no skipping...if you were there you could see him.. He told her of his childhood in Tuzla, a north bosnian town ran down by hordes of a croatian fascists during the early autum of ninteenfourtytwo...sort of a story that she was dropped on her knees not many years ago but sort of a story only offered by another man of her heart, Kosta.. First night that they slept,well...it was a day...On the tip of her mastrubating course she could see a great fortress the Kalemegdan tangling it's images in the distance.... He couldn't see anything except to hear voice of Slavka, little girl who's head was rotating on a croatian storm troopers bayonet... Then after those hours of exaustion they would lay in bed for another hour or two...

You said you tried to write like Yesenin. she asked him....I don't know..the more I think , more I realize how my basic sense for poetry is ,well..nothin but...basic...

Basic... why would you say that? I read o noci and I think it is excellent..

From american prospective, yes.... but in russia I would be dismissed and humiliated in a heartbeat...

Now, that is not fair, isn't it? Look at you.....

And they would go on and on like that for hours....

What is your stand on Turgenev ?

Great, amazing, but when I was reading it I was too young, I don't think my opinion is still valid in this case....

How 'bout Gorki ? It was a basis of socialism..no one ever picked up a world's leftovers in a form of real shit as he did...I bound in front of him for that...

Who else ?

Chekhov... an emotion first class solicitor...a blueprinter of structure... I don't think Hollywoood would ever get the chance if it wasn't for his basis..no, seriously...

Faulkner?...Tell you that the sound and the fury is the biggest fuck up if you ask me, but I tell you too that As I Lay dying is the greatest thing ever written in that part of the world...

And Melville?..Hmmm..Endlessly narattive...obscene for anyone's intelectual indulgence...A time mover of an enormous proportions...what else I can tell you..?

That you love me...

As she said that he looked at her...Any other real questions?

Bukowski?

Who?

Bukowski...Charles Bukowski....from Los Angeles....

He looked at her for a second...

Never heard of him...

Dear Creditor, so what I am saying, I received a telegram, the old ways are still living in that geographical part I assume so...and it gets pretty uninteresting when your days get to be numbered all of a sudden and nothing really changes.. climacy around here is always pretty much the same..It is either hot or hotter as I lean myself against a carbon color stick shipped by the united parcel service from Texarcana..Place I visited once...when Kelly was joining me and we were kids back then...back then, eighthundred and four miles east of El Paso, the place were the finest people of this country come from or even finer ones accros the bridge ( but that is another matter)... As for Kelly...she is berried by Kosta, at least what they recovered as his bones after he was lost in saibirian tundra threehundred and some fifty miles northwest of vladivostock..he lasted the entire sixteen years at the labor camp Olyozny...

She wrote me... Sister of mine...I stopped bleeding more then three months now... I think I am carrying something...It is not what, it's who this cursed thing belong too.. Timsoara is getting larger day by day...there is always fresh labor arriving from Moldavia and Ukraine, but there is gypsies in large and proportionally more palm readers and tarot women..oh many, many, my sis...This is my final letter..at least for awhile... I know a woman from Vrsac..her brother is a mason in Klagenfurt in Austria..I am leaving by the end of the week... Yours... Kelly...

The letter never arrived to the U.S.... It was holded and filed in the militzia's cabinet and stayed there till ntwo months ago..god damned, half a century late...It came with this telegram...

The rest is my own grief.. Can you help me somehow with that?..What feelings I have left at this stage...what to split my head over except for the common coldness that is fairly and daily existing at this most notorious place for heat and unbearable temprature...

Oh lonely ideals...Oh you all abondend ideals ...Oh life...where do we go from here?...

I myself actually didn't know that till I read the Piano Teacher for the first time... My hands were shaking,my knees filled with water, unable to force those limbs to move forward...

I was choking as a war prisoner forced to drink a car battery fluid... I cried for days as

Goyka asked me repeatedly of what the heck is going on... But I cried in grief not knowing that I am actually crying into the happiness...then sudden joy overwhelmed by heart.. But , fuck it..that is how the life is...

Seven days later I wrote to my niece.. she of course never answered...she might have been working on another novel...I suppose... they say that kelly died of cervical cancer...quite common way of leaving these days, I would say, don't you think...For Mesha Selimovich. he died in ninteeneightytwo leaving more then ten novels behind for which the greatest one, Death and the Dervish had been translated in more then twelve languages up to this day...

Zero

Letter to the U.S.-sep 28th, 2007

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Letter from the U.S. -sep 27th 2007

Dear Most Effecient One...

I tried different people to compare you with and I couldn't...what I am challenging myself these days for is purely some sort of a sureal involvement if you want me to put it that way...I never got off , trust me, thinking of purely life-coming facts and simple ever present things like kids or family or some kind of a material endorsment...I care more for pages and paper then for my own existance...what is it then?

Is it some problem that we are talking here, problem of deviation of a social character...is it some things that I took too much for granted... see I used to adore ( I still do thou he is dead) this guy...help me... oh yes... Gordon Matta-Clark...I felt truly emtionally abused first time I saw him cutting that side of the sixteen century building in Paris... I would get outraged, My Goddess... Notions between myself and my mother went way down the tubes decades ago...She used to come at night I remember at our place in Sunnyslope pouring candle wax on my forehead...what I could have done..I was seven years old back then.... I berried her in my mind ..I berried her literally as well... Now, same thing here occurs as with that Mata-Clark feedback driven feeling... Have you ever read Maltaverne ? I never shared a simple second of regret toward my monsterous parent..never ever.... Then of course, I start reading Mauriac... I read Viper's Tangle the I read Maltaverne... I was gonna cry my self away... I never moaned over my stupid fate that much... What for... who would care of that at the first place.. I told you how my only daughter is in Michigan...

anyways.... that is exactly when I started hating Celine... I wish De Gaulle got some rael gallows for that dush...no seriously , no kidding..

by the way, My Meaning , how you doing in terms of retro scale of a world's finest literature in general, tell me? See, I can't grant much difference between Dickens or Stevenson or later Andrich or Steinback... everything is more then a simple language with a never doubtful most immaculate narrative form... We lived those forms...that is how our lives were structure by, if you ever think...take David Copperfield... most visiable fable structure with a simple access to anyone...

take The Bridge over Drina... it is like you listen your grandmother or her first door dull-day-filled neighbour... still people will suck it... Take East of Eden...what better then that..I adore the work..till I was twentyeight and had my first miscarriage... some decades later I will read that Viper Tangle thing... actually, first The Desert Of Love... so I say to you, finally after reading Maltaverne..no way, I won't cry no more...but I won't read any of them simple fables ever again neither...no metter what the word is or what kind of prize has been shipped from the swedish academy...

I can't remember but I think Nitche was saying how for own good is the sooner the better we realize how the planet is regulary directed and inpowered but the stupidest people on the planet...I doubted the thought for half of my life and I can only tell you that the guy was perfectly right...it is all in us after the curtain is down...it is all about our simple meanings, our top nudge appetites which leads to our never accomplished dreams, which leads to new appetites which produce even more demading fantasies...oh well...

Gao Xingjian had a line in his Soul Mountain that was sort of for me understandable, at least from the practical prospective, now what do you think, My Mistress? Lack of destination makes a perfect traveler... I don't know was that simply jacked from some Tao book , or a buddhist genre or some other wise crack... but I though and thought and split my head in half over that... it is all over the same good bottom level again... the more you aiming to, the less you find and it makes you, all over again, terribly unhappy... And when you live darkness on the top of it ( as myself do)...oh...what is the internal salvation that is offerd to me, honestly..?

and don't think there is one left out there at all...

So I carry these rotten pears of my and only for the fact that if I let's say completley disregard them, this tree of mine ( what I still call a physical substance known as my own body frame) will bound to the ground in metter of second...

Little bit lower ( can barely see these days because of my damaged spine but I can sense ), my puss developed an awful stench...It is one of those things, let's say, when I used to live in downtown los angeles... we could here singing of (birds) at night, right?...wrong...

it took us three months to figure out how we are not hearing a father angel, not once...we were hearing god damned rats...yeap....

these days ,at least for me it is all upside down...I pee on my backside and when I shit I shit my clitoris...Doctor Lanz lives way away in Chandler....it is a long drive especially in my shape...he told me how they call those things a misintegrated body development...It is some sort of a flop of a cervical system that affects my discharging activites.. he thinks how we will never find a fix for this thing...It don't bother me on a long term, cause ,hahaa...no long term, at least not form me, My Goddess... the only thing is that eating my polish helper shit I guess I caught clymidia so it feels like I piss razors and if you doing it on ass it gets even worse....

I so much want to thank you for taking time on this correspodance and hope you recevied my money order on threehundred euros too....I have no words to express how honored I am just by knowing you on this very much basic term... After all, I can only assumed how you don't have many things left unaccomplished, bottom line, for who you are..Must be sort of thing why, remember, Rock Hudson or Montgomery Clift , why they all went gay...That is of course, the prospective from where I see you romancing this eightyone year old of the same sex...oh..This is all so welcoming from my parts and thank god from your part too..while sitting by the desk in your house in Hamburg you still insisting on me wearing white...You are taking me as snow and what will you do? dismiss me by the spring?....No you said once...the casket will be shaped for you much earlier...to make things smooth and to form your limbs comfortable..oh...it took me my entire life to realize that hollywood drill...it is so hard to be a hot girlfriend and thank you for making me one even thou so much late...and then the side of the story that you mentioned earalier how the lack of nutritions in Russian caused the entire insideness of you to turn into rubber...smell that kills when burning...the most extreme black that is ever to be decribed by human eyes....but so strong and protective...I love rubber in that case...can't beat the aroma...

excuse my manners but it is not me in this case...I have to put this letter on hold for now for reasons of Goyka ( my polish helper)...she eat shnizzle in paprika today and she just regrouped her intestins and farted like a wounded messershimth...I,ll never clean this clymidia with this kind of living...just as they were teaching us when we were kids...eat healthy , eat well...

Letter to the U.S.

I responded on 25th of Sep, 2007....

I don't gather much who you are, where you view less feelings are coming from ( toward me might be and it might not), thou I listen you due to your age and sex I'd rather not to get involved partically ( emotionally I dont even expect that from Myself any life soon)..The fact that I endorse in me some para-real half sanctified and rare individual, I know that from time before and before...If my image do panetrates so confidantly inside you to reaccumulate your wracked sight nerve, well I might be even sort of a walking remedy...Tou, I didn't know that by now... You mention the seed, but sorry a million, but I cannot relate to it, no way...This physical phenomenon that you have revealed to me in your letter, well... I am not doubting the truthness itself, but in that case it must be more the just physical, yes.... One thing is what I am sure of and that is how reciting psalms from my website introduction ( except for copyright issues , that I strictly enforce ), won't hurt anyone...If that drives you and make you see, I will be certainly thrilled to remain that sort of an influence... Are you so endorsed by myself that makes you stick around for another ten years or so in this world? well done then...Are you so much spiritually discontect with your a dull-boxed and clearly a falling-apart outside frame and I am mending you back together? way to go....and are you so brutally abandoned from the rest of the environment that there is still no one out there to put you on the plane and let know a flight attendant care to escort you to Hamburg?

My mailbox here is averaging more then five hundred hits per day, so you must realize how hard is to find you and how bit of a luck all this is, actually...and just for sincereness, my next letter is going to be charged for two hundred Euros ( western union wired on Natalia Mulhausen)....A romantic affair between a thritytwo year old woman and her girlfriend fourty years her senior, it is a violent ride of imagination...it is my kind of ride most of all, but considering your age, it must be something more in it for me, otherwise, it is from my point of view ( and that one only matters), the entire journey is a simple waste of time...

Regarding Brodsky? You know that my parents are Russians so I am fluent too...I do admire you fascination but all I can say is that the translation is still most developed stage of poetry ever writen for english, although compering to it's original in russian, it sucks...

Hammer Mulhausen

Letter from the U.S.

This Letter arrived on sep 20th 2007 in my virtual estate in Hamburg.

To The Most Perfect Soul Creditor, Goddess Natalia

Dear Goddess...

The sun is up and I myself alone again....course, nothing new on that...I maintained myself here at one place alone many years now...judging timely, decades are talking here, my immaculate Goddess... Surely this letter has it own lack of common sense knowing how it will never be seen by those thundering eyes of yours..I decided anyways to go for it, cause at this weak and most unprotected stage of my life , what else to admit accept how your tremendous website, so dearly and firmly replanished my inner self, that is by all the words , so hard to describe...

The fact that I stayed alone for so long, won't budge much anyone, less myself , Dear Goddess... I am eightyone and most of them that I knew are long gone from this messy place...The Husband that I had left high heaven twentytwo years ago... I have a daughter and supposedly even a grandaughter of some sort...I don't see anyone and almost not eager to meet none of them again...They live in Michigan which is way far away from Arizona where I am located....So look at me..wasting your time even if you for some strange occasion get to know this letter of mine, so I am terribly sorry , so terribly sorry..and please dismiss all my correspodance this very instant, will ya....

I don't see, my Goddess...I am classified as a blind persona and most of them birds that fly, yes I hear of them...and if you ask me, what else..that is all..when I was sixtyone my diabetes skyrocketed and quickly burned my eye nerve... And I can tell you how funny is not to see again...now, for some issues that are a nerve-wracking constanta upon this blackened world, trust me, not much to miss...How I told you that the sun is up, remember that....( first sentence )...now, that is the missing of a major kind, no doubt about that... I used to read Brodsky and I used to travel all the way to Solveng and right to Las Cruces...please do that ( second) trip first time you get a chance...You will be fascinated by El Paso... The finest characters of my country come from El Paso...Even finer onces accross the Zaragoza bridge, but that is a metter for another gig thou still certainly thrilling...Curse me now, but I dearly recollect in my almost well-gone memory how I would be sitting somewhere by the road, think it might me Lordsburg of New Maxico, sure it is.... and words and very much turbulent stanzans would be pouring out of my most mrigid dialect...it was about:...And the Endless sky over the tiles,grows bluer as swelling birdsong fills. And the clearer the song is heard, the smaller the bird...

Oh ..well. you gathered by now how those were days when I was still able to see, Dear Goddess..but vision is nothing but a cheap knockoff of reality... How darkness expended for years and years there afterwards, sole images came back thou... How 's that?...Plain answers, my Mighty Creditor, nothing but plain answers...

Now, let me recollect this time how that was a somewhere probably mid of last year when I was left to dream all over alone...My Polish native helper left the house quarter till eleven at night..She used my desktop for some reason constantly, although I never objected...

Let me varify that the sun is up and sure it is....

Did you hear and sure you probably did how germs come back from the space more deadlier that what they are prior to the lifting...Did you hear how experts found out how lonely people are more likely to get sick and die younger...they even used a "gene chip" to look at the different sort of an abandoned human specimen...and there was nothing yet dicovered to solve sorrow , I can tell you that much from my prospective, Dearest Authority..

what's down the drain is down the tubes, just as same.. James Lovelock and a mighty Gaia hypotesis how the planet is a living entity...hundered to twohundred meter long pipes so you can solve the home...wave motion pumps up the water ...such an action can easily fertilizes algae and bring them up to the surface... Did you know how algal bloom presses down carbon dioxide and generates thing called dimenthyl sulphide...hah?...bababoom....it does what...easy and simple, help to bring the sunlight down to us......and , even easier, my Goddess, even easier to figure out how for myself this sort of light was long time over... I told you...it just burned down my nerve...Unless for some rare few things...For the seed of my body and for the reflex of my feelings... The seed I projected in my rarely- ever-more tense brain...the projection about the seed that I carried once...And for this most excellent carry of all , this lonely woman will never remain as lonely again...

The seed was a model and an actress by the age of eighteen...she made movie and tv appearances...she was in reports...she is multiply heavily pierced at nipples , labia and tongue...Body totally hairless, head too... seventh surgery in 2006 gave her ( still in accordance to her immaculate body) cup H...and in my stage or shape, most definitely I prefer the title of a unique Doctoress, one of many name varieties that she go by...

so I am seeing in blindness... so it is good, even the hours are late ( now, how much time do I have left, my my, that no one knows )..

Truly Yours...

Philis Baker

Scottsdale, AZ