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

Rubber Natalia

Rubber Natalia