A--I told you I am not good at keeping in touch. I have a hard time with the imagination. So it is hard for me to keep in touch because it is so figurative, the keeping and the touching.
Things here are okay. Everybody is making a fuss about you, which is why I remembered today to write. You are really becoming more tangible. You are becoming so many different people and different things. I haven't seen the movie, but I am sure it will disappoint me. I am afraid that connection is vital. It is like how I have always known that looking at veins and tangles and the way fungus grows. Getting a degree in hermitage may be the thing that ruins me. But what I don't understand is how to decide on anything. What makes life force valuable, for example? Why should I value my existence just because I'm stuck in it? I never asked to be. I couldn't have. I am a root in a mass of roots. But now that I know I am a root I can't go on. If I see myself I grow transparent. I can hear the singing from the mead hall even here in the cardboard mountains. I am destroying myself. It's not my fault. You should come back soon. G .i fall down. 10.02.09.
Wolf, I told you not to leave the toilet seat up twenty times already. I also told you not to leave your socks on the floor. I tripped on your stinking socks today. I have a huge bruise on my ass, and a cut in my hand. If you're wondering why there is blood everywhere it's because you leave your socks on the floor. I'm not cooking dinner tonight unless you want bloody sandwiches. Get your own dinner. By the way, Grendel wants his mp3 player back. What the hell are you doing taking his things? Don't think I don't notice. I've just about had it with you. This trip was a bad idea. Don't knock on the door with your furry hands. I'm going to sleep. Your blanket is on the sofa. Don't try any of that sugar tea stuff with me this time. It's not going to work. You'd done that way too many times and I'm not going to be sheep skinned ever again. -Alice Grendel is a sad little fucker with a thirst for vengeance... vengeance he's been surpressing for thousands of years. Turns out he didn't die when Beowulf ripped off his arm. He spend a while nursing his wound in the bottom of that swamp. Now he's back and taking on college, working as a gardener and house-sitter for Alice, retired looking-glass-traveler. A bit mellower, he's still dealing with self-esteem issues from the past. Here are the letters he sent while cooped up in her whirligig-infested house. Click below on "Read More" for the full text of their first exchange.
| welcome to antelopenvelope. we hope you enjoy the letters. categories / authorsAll  ArchivesJune 2010    space bacteria come to rule the world art on antelopenvelope by feng antelopenvelope by nightvegetables team is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. |
RSS Feed
