Another letter to Alice

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