Hell

Dear K,

I'm writing about things that scare me. Things that really scare me. I'm writing about things that make me cringe. I'm writing about the darkest things I can imagine, and the horrible part is I know these things happen. I know they happened.

I'm working on my novel. I'm pushing into dark waters. I'm pushing into the places where I should not go, where we all need to go, looking at things we need to look at, looking at real evil and you know what my life isn't so bad. I know my life isn't so bad, it's a little tough right now, I am in a very uncertain financial situation, I may have to move back to Des Moines and into a friends basement. But, my little troubles are nothing. I am a prince living in a pleasure garden compared to what is happening out there somewhere in the dark. Right now there is a man handing a child a knife and telling that child to cut the head off of another man with it. Right now there is very real hell, and we more than ever need to look at it, we need to look it in the face.

I'm losing sleep though. I read about children being eaten by children in Liberia today. I watched a man talk about it. Tomorrow I'm going to write inside the head of a man who teaches children to kill, teaches them to eat human flesh, and the horror of this is this man is not unwell in the normal ways. This man and these children are unwell in a way that you or I could have been. Then I'm going to write from inside the head of a Gulag prison guard. Then I'm going to write from inside the head of a doctor in the Japanese Imperial Army as he experiments on living human beings.

I am going to lose sleep. I am going to lose some weight. The sort of writing I'm going to do for the next couple of days, it's not pleasant. It is not joyful creation, but I think the story needs to be told. I think people need to know they could be these monsters. I think if I do this right. If I write well and true, then I will be doing the most good I can do with this story. It's a story about being yourself, and everyone else.


I'll see you on the other side,

K

Dear K,

Today is Thanksgiving.

I'm thankful for so many things. I'm thankful for our long friendship. I'm thankful for: trees, and birds, and sunshine, and old romantic wounds that don't heal. I'm thankful for patterns, and repetition, and things that don't seem real. I'm thankful for wine, and books, and unending minuscule fantasies (wherein I pretend to live a life I love, doing things I love to do when I'm just moving forward doing something I don't want to be doing). I'm thankful for health. I'm thankful for my family. I'm thankful to be from a place with clean air and green fields.

I'm going to overcome myself. I'm going to move around my internal blocks. I'm going to pour myself out like never before. I'm going to finish this fucking book if it kills me. I'm going to win. I'm going to conquer the city of Chicago. I'm going to stop doing things I don't want to do for people and companies I don't like, and I'm going to do it on my terms. I'm good enough. I'm smart enough, and doggone it people like me.


I hope you're having a happy holiday.

I've been having some rough living lately, but as you can tell it has only made me more determined.

Hope.
Fight.
Live.

Yours,

K.

Dear K,

My dad tells me something wise about times like this: "Live your life well" he says. If you live your life well then you can help other people, and that's part of living your life well. This man, he says, this man wants us to believe that people want to destroy us, that everything is broken, that our lives are bad. If we live our lives well he loses. Don't budge. Don't back down. Live well. Have hope. Have life. Have light. Stay firm. Stay strong, stay open. Stay safe.

Resolute,

K

jak to dopadne

dear k-

i am lost. what just happened? where am i?
don't let it touch you. if it doesn't touch us it can't hurt us.
i don't want to speak it aloud, because speaking aloud makes it real. i will not acknowledge it; i refuse to acknowledge it. is this the state of things? is this what is left?

what now? i can't even pick up the pieces because they aren't there. it all evaporated into air like a fickle phantom, never fully grasped and just taunting me with its shape and feel. i could feel it in my bones. and now it's gone and it's been replaced by filth and bile and poison and i feel sick sick sick and i want to hide. like chanie wenjack, i just want to start walking and i'll never stop. i'll die alone in the cold on an unfamiliar path but i know i can't stop. this is not my country. these are not my people.

sometimes i wish people had to pass a history test in order to vote in national elections.

perhaps i'll become an emigre, like in the old days, and sit abroad drinking absinthe and writing and thinking about the homeland and the people i left behind. will other countries take sympathy when i turn up at their border, and welcome me in with a sad and knowing nod of pity?

i can't even talk to people today. which is hard when that's basically my job. which is better one or two, one or two, one or two...the answer is irrelevant anymore. i don't care.

tell me what to do,
-k

Dear K,

Do you ever get mists in the morning? The kind that dissipate in full sun, but hug and skirt the ground, cloaking familiar in unfamiliarity. Making old seem strange? We get those mists here sometimes.

Until about six hours ago I would have told you things are going very well for me.

Now, I feel cut off and alone. I feel disconnected. I don't know anyone in this city. I'm lonely. I'm uncertain about the future. I'm scared. I'm sick of people only looking out for themselves. I miss my little river town where nothing ever happens.

I wish I had someone to sleep with. I wish I could wake up next to somebody. Report in with them. Tell them about my day. Rub their back and hear about theirs.

I don't like anybody I meet. I don't meet anybody I like. I don't meet anybody. I hate online dating. My hope reserves are exhausted.

I'll be better soon.

Someday,
K

fragile symmetry

Dear K-

I get the sense that there is some vast expanse beside me, stretching out in the distance just waiting to be explored. I can feel it. Like a cool gasp on the back of my neck, refreshing and sweet. It feels so tempting, but my mind gives me pause. What cost, what cost? How long and how far would I have to go before I found peace?

Like a horse corralled in a field, I pace back and forth along the border longing to cross to the other side, to race off into the empty fields and away from the familiarity and comforts of my pasture. Suddenly everything I know tastes bitter, foul, and I know deep down that I will never be satisfied until I get to taste the foreign lands just beyond my reach. I think my great-grandmother’s blood runs strong in my veins, the spice of the Slavic disposition gives me an unquenchable wanderlust that boils against everything I have been raised to seek out: status, stability, routine. The things that bring me comfort also frustrate me. I’m like a fickle child, unable to articulate what I want but constantly howling because nothing here can fill that undefinable void. It makes me feel ashamed to be so weak.

I’ll continue to pull at my tethers, continue to stare out the window thinking about futures, but the truth is I am getting old and eventually I will just have to come to terms with the bed I have made. Eventually there won’t be enough fight left in me, and I won’t be able to keep running. My legs will be broken and bruised from overuse and I’ll collapse in exhaustion, and I just hope and pray that wherever I lay I can find peace in that place, since more likely than not I will never get up again.

I hope you are doing well.

Warmly yours, as always,

-k

an embrace as salty as the ocean

Dear K-

I haven’t been feeling well lately. That’s not to necessarily say I’ve been sick, I just have been in a mood. I want to avoid everyone. I want to make things. I want to break things. I want to sit in the crisp fall air by myself and drink coffee and think about everything and nothing. I feel guilty, because rather than admitting this to friends I have simply told them I am sick. Why aren’t you answering your phone? I don’t feel well. It sounds much more reasonable than “I honestly just don’t want to talk to anyone, and actually the thought of interacting with you right now makes me grossly uncomfortable and unhappy”.

Sometimes you have to take risks in order to find peace. I think I’m going to apply for a new job. I’m most likely grossly underqualified and it’s likely they will laugh out loud when they see my resume, but fuck it. Why not? What have I got to lose anymore? I just know I can’t keep doing this same routine ad infinitum. I’d rather have a job that I’m excited about and that gives me challenges that I am actually eager to tackle. There is so much more that I am capable of than what I have been doing here lately. Someone just has to give me a chance.

I am trying not to get my hopes up.

Tell me about your day. I notice that you attempted to write something to me, but didn't finalize it and so it faded into the ether before I had a chance to consume it.

Assuredly yours,

-k