Dear K,
Oh! Ennui. Stifling steaming ennui! It is rolling through your letters and syllables like a thunderstorm. The sound dopplers past me and I hear its speed, spreading seeds of disdain and distaste and hatred of hate and then finally there comes cool waves of detachment. What a sweet summer rain of apathy my dear. Oh I sincerely revel in it. I have found again my love of humans and I am in love with our species and we are very happy. The human race and I are thinking about settling down on a nice little planet, the rent isn't too high and we can afford to sit outside and drink wine on the patio as the sun dips down in the evening.
Laughter and birdsong, these are the things I prescribe.
But really, in the worst possible way I want to warm your untouchable heart and make you laugh and sing silly little songs about toast with me.
We could be uncontrollable and hilarious and skip down cobbled streets with old shoes tied around our necks and bare feet barely touching the ground. Wouldn't that be nice? Wouldn't it be nice of us to be such great beings?
Or maybe it is better to relax and slowly droop our eyelids at the whole joke of it all. Entropy is rushing madly in and even the rules of time break as we sip our rapidly cooling tea. Maybe one day the universe will be so old that it will be young again and then I could convince you finally of the things that set me free.
I wish I could be everything for a moment, but for this moment I'll be fine if I could just have a glass of wine and sit, and sit and stare and laugh and smoke cheap cigarettes and not care about the cancer that comes later in the night of my life to steal me early into sleep.
Wouldn't that be lovely?
Oh please my lovely say that it would be lovely.
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