Wednesday August 30th 2006, 8:40 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

My My,

I just saw a horrific ghost (twice)! Iím sure you can guess what earthly form this specter tookóIt was you. My dear lost love! You were walking down Church Street towards your favorite place to rent movies. I happened to be returning a couple of movies when, unbeknownst to me, you appeared on the street. Now, I know better than to taunt an angry ghost when I donít have my special ghost-zapping apparatus on me, so I played it cool, looked the other way, and rode off into the sunset. My pulse was racing and my heart was beating through my emaciated chest. What would have happened if I provoked you and said ďhello?Ē Would you have literally kicked my ass like you promised to do not too long ago? Maybe you wouldnít even have acknowledged me, as we all know itís difficult to make contact with the spirit world. Even though all my instincts tell me to leave well enough alone, to leave you alone, thereís a part of me that wants to ride back to the movie rental store and try to make contact with you. However, I think Iíll just write about this brief visual encounter instead of making any drastic actions that could lead to my own arrest. I want to think you were bluffing on the phone, but these actions will remain thoughts just in case you werenít. You were so angry with me; I could feel your energy though the telephone itself. But on Church Street just now, you seemed like your docile quiet self. Iím sure contact with me would have filled you with anger and adrenaline. These are two very terrible chemicals for you. Iím not trying to ruin your life, as you suppose I am, however until I leave this city, there might be a couple more encounters between you and I. You can be sure that if and when we do meet, you will only be experiencing my physical form because my mind has long ago left these lands. Thatís not to say Iím crazy, but what I mean is that you no longer get the privilege of my kindness and mental equity. If we share words, they will be logistical instructions as how to make this official divorce function easier for both parties. Even though the visual sight of you still stimulates my nerves, rest assured that you will never stimulate my heart anymore than its already beaten and battered state. I know you think youíve stricken fear into my heart, but you havenít. I am intrepid towards your critique. The only one I fear is myself, and thatís only because I havenít laughed in a long while. Though it was nice to see your ghost, it would have been nicer if you had seen the ghost of my heart, my kindness. You only focus on the bad times, the fearful times. Well Love, my fearful times have been the most rewarding instances in the past. Marrying you, for example, struck fear in the deepest sections of my heart, but I still enjoyed the experience, even though I regret the outcome of our home-building project.

With ghost like thoughts,


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Tuesday August 29th 2006, 12:44 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

To the voice in my head,

You are still yelling at me in my mind. Whether asleep or not, your voice resonates through me like the sounds of a motorcycle driving by a glass shop. I feel fragile. Itís hard for me to be alone right now but I have no other options. Iím making secure plans for me to move out of San Francisco, but I do so with a heavy heart. I will miss this city. There are a few good people here that Iíve met in the last two months who I will have to soon regretfully say goodbye. Mary, my blue haired post modern buddy, I will miss the most. Sheís a brilliant young woman who I havenít spent hardly enough time with. Iíd like to dance with her one more time before I leave. Sheís shown me compassion on an intellectual level here in the city. I truly will miss her. Maria, my friend from work I will miss as well. Through all these troubling times, Maria has helped me go inside myself and remember to keep an optimistic approach to my psychology. She offered me a place to stay when I needed it, and a friendly outlook on the dark times. She use to live on the streets when she first got to this city, and so she has been able to empathize with my night wanderings. Sheís also offered me food from her own stash when I was broke and starving. Those are what friends do. They help each other in times of need. I told you over the phone that I truly wanted to be your friend after our separation, but you never wanted to accept that responsibility. Friends care about the well being of their friends. You responded to my emotions by rolling your eyes. You said to me ďCanít you understand why I donít want to hear about your sadness?Ē This maybe your true understanding of the nature of our breakup Ė yes, you are the reason why I am sad. I am sad because I love you and can not share with you any of that love. Iím sad because you could care less that Iím sad. Iím sad because I saw something beautiful die, right before my eyes. I couldnít be friendly to you when I was overwhelmed with sadness. But, you took this as a cold shoulder, as the fact that I didnít want to be friends at all. Well, I wanted your friendship more than you could have imagined. But, all this is lost now, we share nothing, not even sadness. You amaze me; you are absolutely amazing. But my sadness will eventually dissipate and I will have my life back on track again. There are tuff times ahead of me, but I will survive. I never believed I was meant to survive, and maybe Iím not, but I will continue to work though this sadness to ensure my survival. These are epiphanies for me, considering the mind-state I was in last week. I can almost claim to have reached some sort of enlightenment. Anyway, I miss you.

–the other voice in my head.

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Sunday August 27th 2006, 8:45 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

My Beloved,

Though you may not know, and in fact, thereís no way you would know, Iím very sexually deprived these days. I had a wet dream last night. I canít remember who or what the details entailed, but I do know that my body requires a release of my pent up sexual desires. I canít masturbate like most men I know as I feel pathetic and hopeless when I do pleasure myself, thus not allowing myself to ejaculate. In a way, I proscribe myself the ability to narcissistically indulge in my own body. For some strange reason, my consciousness can only allow another to please me sexually. However, I do believe I told you quite enough of this ďproblemĒ of mine, and therefore will discontinue discussing these intimate details. Itís Fatherís day today. Will you call your dad to tell him you love him? You’ve always had a strange relationship with that man; of course there was the history of his abuse and neglect. He was never around for you, and therefore you never had a father figure in your life to be a positive male role model. Fathers teach young daughters how to successfully find other positive male persons in the daughterís life. Your dad was rich, conservative, on drugs, would go from woman to woman, wife to wife, and allowed you, his twelve year old daughter to run away from home. He actually allowed you to go. That man is a disgusting example of what a good father should be. When I met you, you claimed to loathe the man. He would visit you in San Jose, not because he wanted to see you (or so you said) but because that was the location of his auto shops, and coincidentally, the place where you were living. However, as I began to better understand your need for his presence, even though he never really gave you much of anything in terms of love and fatherhood, I understood why you would want to meet him for lunch once a month, why you returned his phone calls with a ďhi Dad,Ē and even why you ended those calls with an ďI love you.Ē You want your dadís love so bad, you look for it in every man you meet. But to your surprise, all men disappoint you. You are conditioned to reach out for a male figure, but your open arms only know how to net in men who will someday continue the tradition of hurting you. You search for men who can not show you the love youíve always craved from your dad. Itís an obvious cycle, but a validated one, none the less. This psychosis of a missing father is almost textbook. Iíve been told by many people that with the shit youíve been through it would take multiple lifetimes of therapy to work out. I didnít want to believe this haunting statement because I had faith in your mental and psychological abilities. But now, in retrospect to whatís happened between you and I, I do believe you need help Ė help that your friends canít give you. You need professional help, as do I.

–your belover.

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Friday August 25th 2006, 7:38 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

My ghost,

I am trying to fall asleep midday. Thereís music playing in the distance, and the sounds of waves are crashing on top of the notes. I find that when I try to sleep, my body instinctively curls into the fetal position. I feel so vulnerable when I close my eyes. My thoughts become dialogues between us. My body sometimes quivers when I repeat your brutal and vicious words from our past conversations. Iím sorry I hurt you. I didnít mean for us to turn out like this. I am plagued by my past actions, as you are plagued with fear towards me. Itís so strange to know you truly fear for your life at this point. Iíve been so kind in the past. I honestly tried my best to love you unconditionally. I would have never exhibited the anger I showed you in the past if Robert hadnít convinced me it was natural expression. Robert made it seem as if getting angry was perfectly healthy and normal. It was terrible advice. No one should raise their voice the way I did, especially not to someone they love. But this does not negate the fact that I indeed loved you. Whatís more, I still love you. If I told you this, you would call the cops immediately, so I wonít let you in on this emotional secret. You will never feel my love again and I have to accept that. I am not a monster. I am a romantic who never got it right. I feel like a failure with good cause Ė Iíve failed. You were my fourth love. Four times Iíve tried to love with all I have and each time, something has happened with has broken the bonds of my Love. One reason I married you, beyond the fact that I loved you, was that I wanted something to work at, I wanted to keep us together when things werenít perfect. When you asked me to leave the apartment, I knew we were through. You gave up so quickly, as Iíve stated before, and destroyed my belief that our marriage could nurture us through those terrible times. Things have gotten increasingly worse between you and I. Now, you swear youíll kill me if you see me on the street. If that happens, youíll see that thereís not much left to destroy. If things continue like this, in terms of my defeats and destitution, there wonít any Chris left to punch or kick or beat up. But, as Iíve promised, I wonít bother you again. I wish things were different, and I suppose you do as well, but theyíre not. One day we may look back at this and laugh, but weíll be laughing together for different reasons in different cities. Until that day, we must make the best of what remains and continue propelling ourselves into the future. The waves wonít stop crashing and the music wonít stop playing just because we want to turn our heads and laugh, or cry for that matter.

ĖYour ghost.

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Thursday August 24th 2006, 8:50 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters


Even though youíve explicitly told me you ďdonít give a fuckĒ about how Iím feeling, Iíd like to inform you that Iím feeling well, and that I donít have any anger or hate towards you. Though this emotional state will change, as it always does, for the moment, Iím actually happy. Iím downtown sitting on the corner of Howard and Main in the industrial district. The sun is shining brilliantly and the wind is a cozy breeze. The towering buildings surrounding me are mere obstacles in the way of beautiful puffy clouds. Theyíre the type of clouds that one would love to dive into, like a down-filled comforter, or a heated swimming pool. Iím still waiting for your phone call to give me instructions for signing over the pink slip to our car, but you can take your time with that. Youíre probably at work right now, anticipating the moment they let you go, so that you can take your post-work-Saturday nap. I wonder if your fear of me has inconvenienced your sleep schedule? I know how much you enjoy your naps, so I hope I havenít disturbed your daily routines entirely. I often wondered whether you use sleep as escapism. I remember you telling me you pictured death as a beautiful eternal nap. I appreciate this optimistic approach to the unknown territories of the post-mortem state. Itís a brave outlook on one of the most terrifying aspects of life on this planet. I always wondered if I would accept God on my deathbed. I usually come to the conclusion that I would keep my agnostic faith, and liberate my consciousness by diving into the natural state of the universe. Humanity has a strange narcissistic perspective on life and death. Humans believe in their own importance so concretely that they make living forever (or as long as they can) the ultimate goal in life. Although technology serves in continuing the dominance of the human race, it is humans, however, that eventually rely on, in fact serve, technology. It is a master/slave relationship. Just think of all the seniors who canít survive without their medication. Think of all the sick individuals who rely on technology to propagate their lives. Technology propagates itself. For instance, the AIDS virus, or the newly mutated Super AIDS virus, requires technological advancements, or rather, technological mutations to battle the disease. Really, there are no human individuals anymore, but just potential mutants and biological mutations. God (or whatever it is we label an Absolute) itself is a mutation of human thought and understanding. Even something like history, once thought to be objective, has now mutated into a fluid-conditioned construct of the human mind. All this philosophizing about life, death, technology and an absolute makes me tired. Itíd be nice to take a nap, maybe escape these thoughts for a bit. Anyway, this is what I was thinking about in this happy state Iím in. I know you could care less, but I thought Iíd let you know.


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Wednesday August 23rd 2006, 8:06 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

To my immediate Curse,

Iím glad youíve stabilized and fortified your life here in San Francisco. Itís nice to know you have a good job with benefits, friends that care about you, friends who will protect you from the people like me and a home that you can go to when you need a break from the outside world. It makes me feel good to know youíre doing well. Even though my life is a shattered chaotic system of unstable tangents, I know that someday I will be in a position similar to yours. My decision to leave San Francisco has lifted my spirits. I have hope again. Although I donít have any job prospects in Los Angeles, I am hopeful that when I get there, I will be able to start rebuilding my shattered life into a new exotic and powerful existence. Iím sorry if I take some credit for your new beginning, but without the end of us, how could you have found such a happy place? Of course I canít take total credit for your happiness, as much as I like being part of the ďdark sideĒ of your life. It is comforting to know that now that I am out of your way, you can immerse yourself in the lighter side of things. But dark and light, dear wife, are mere subjective dichotomies, built on traditional thoughts of good and evil. Happiness is a fluid device, which functions as a crutch for survival, and is never an absolute Truth. Your happiness is a reaction to the sadness I have brought you. Without this sadness, you would have never been happy. I can say this wholeheartedly, because I know how unhappy you were when we were married. You werenít necessarily sad, but you were definitely unhappy. I doubt you will ever give me credit for helping you find happiness by showing you sadness. But, come to think of it, credit is something I can care less about. On the same note, you have given me a chance to revitalize my life. Now, having gone through the destructive process of our break up, I can reassemble the pieces of my shattered life into a new beginning. Like a drawing by Leuvous Woods, or a building by Frank Gehry, I can re-contextualize destruction and chaos into a newly built superstructure. This is not to say that I will ever forget you were a driving force in the shattering of my life. That is where I give you credit. You were my accomplice in destroying this old fundamentally unsound existance. Together we destroyed something amazing, and I love you for that; this is quite possibly the same reason you hate me. But, like I said before, these outdated dichotomies are subjective and arbitrary. The bonds they share synthesize sadness and happiness. The fluid space between good and evil, love and hate, destruction and construction, etc. is the dwelling place of all our thoughts. I do not believe a dialectical understanding of this synthesis will bring us closer to an absolute Truth of being (which is a Hegelian perspective). The space between dichotomies is created by the power struggles of binary opposition (a Nietzschean perspective). And that space requires time and being to propel itself in the instant (Kantian perspective), by giving itself, and uncovering itself (Heidegger), through this secret visible and invisible metamorphosis (Derrida). Okay, so Iím going off on post-modern tangents. My point, is that no matter how much you want to get rid of me in your life, you canít. Iíll be stuck in your memories forever. You can cross me out, but I will persist through the stains of time and being. We are forever linked in this way, divorce or not, with or without verbal communication.

Ė Christopher Robin Donham.

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Tuesday August 22nd 2006, 11:23 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

To the wife I canít afford to divorce,

I looked into the cost of divorce todayó$249, without legal representation. I have two options: Get the divorce finalized and be out of wedlock with you, or move out of the city without getting a divorce (but leaving you alone to continue your sad pseudo-happy life). The divorce is the most pressing thing on your mind, I know, but let me assure you that if I left the city, the situation would improve. You would feel safer if I was gone. Itís so strange that I can put myself in your shoes, so strange to look at myself through such fearful eyes. You are scared of me, even though I have no intention of harming you or any of your friends. There are no secret plans, no machinations to destroy you, nothing. There is no convincing you, however, of my good nature. You go back into your cerebral dungeons, and padlock them with the most weighty and absurd chains. I donít mind your fear, though I do believe it is a product of YOUR own past, and not the moments of anger you and I have shared. The night I screamed at youóthe night you went to Jhonenís hotel roomóI was convinced you hated me. And now you do. (Howís that for a self-fulfilling prophecy?) The second night I yelled because you tried to convince me that ďyouĒ were simply a projection of what I wanted you to be, that your love was just a reflection of my need for your love. I took this to mean that you never loved me (truly) and had been lying to me throughout our whole relationship and marriage. Yes I screamed and called you names. You canít understand what was going on in my head, I felt like you were a big liar, a liar who turned the tables and blamed me for being afraid. I loved you so dearly. Itís amazing how this love has morphed into a most brilliant hate. This weekend I have to sign our car over to Justinís parents. How will I get the pink slip, if you still refuse to see me? Will you leave it in the mailbox? Will you tape it to the door? Will you be gone when I arrive? Will you be inside the apartment holding a knife in your tightly clenched fist? It doesnít matter really. As I promised, your safety is my concern. I will not harm you because I have no desire to. I wish you could understand this; unfortunately, you think I am your enemy. Iím sorry you feel this way.

Best thoughts to you,

The ex-ish-boy.

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Monday August 21st 2006, 12:59 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

To my scared friend,

First of all, I want to remind you, Iím not a psychopath. I couldnít sleep well last night because those words you screamed to me over the phone. ďYouíre a psycho!Ē kept haunting my dreams and my thoughts. You see, Iíd like to consider myself border- line between insane and genius Ė thatís all. Yesterdayís stunt with the water gun has helped us be decisive about the future of our relationship Ė itís ending, very quickly, forever. You want nothing to do with me anymore and I can sympathize with your request. As I promised you over the phone yesterday, I will respect all your wishes. I do appreciate the fact that you arenít getting a restraining order on me. You know how I hate legal enforcement in my life. However, I honestly donít believe my squirt gun antics were worthy of such a consequence. Laughter kills the monster. You should try it sometime. I really did want to be friends with you, but you donít know the nature of friendship, and therefore cannot comprehend what friendship means to me. Consequently, there was a huge void between you and I, post-breakup. We sent vague emails, didnít return phone calls, thought of each other as unfriendly, and at times, despised one another. But not out of sheer hate; merely out of your inability to sympathize with the hard times we were going through. However, talking about us being friends now seems a bit absurd and pointless. You now see me as an enemy, someone who is out to hurt you and your life. But this is your mere myopic perception of your narcissistic life. You now equate me with your ex-lover Rick, the one who broke your arm, your nose, who put a real gun to your head threatening to kill you, who almost killed himself in your presence. Well, Iím not Rick. Iím not the one who will stalk you on your way home from work. And Iím damn well not the one who will hurt you, at all, ever again. We are through. You and I have nothing left. But, that doesnít mean I am going to stop writing to you. Just because you and I will never share a smile again, just because you think Iím a psycho, doesnít mean I still donít want to update you on whatís going on in this ďpsychoticĒ head of mine. After all, promises are promises. You said some pretty harsh things to me yesterday. I doubt you regret any of it.

ĖYour not so scared husband.

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Friday August 18th 2006, 8:44 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

My soon to be ex-wife,

Oh my dearest memory. I was bicycling down Valencia Street when I happened across Konaniís work. I didnít know he worked at that specific Buffalo Exchange. When I saw his presence through the window, I had to stop riding to contemplate my emotions (and of course, you realize he was the other body in your scandalous Myspace photos). Although I later came to realize those pictures were strictly platonic, even though the poses were quite suggestive, they still hurt me dearly. My dear, I happened to have a squirt gun on me at the time of this instance, so I decided to, in jest, approach this unsuspecting boy and tell him how much those photos hurt me. ďHello Konani. I want you to know I was hurt by the photos form your vodka-birthday experience with my wife. Iím sorry but I have to do this.Ē I squirted his heart five times with my water pistol. He seemed to find the humor in all this, however, my perception must have been skewed. He called you, in a panic, telling you I shot him, blah blah blah. In response, you called me, hysterical, saying I was a psychopath and a ďfucking insane loserĒ. I tried to tell you it was all a joke, a way for me to make light of the situation. You didnít want to hear any of this. You called the cops, and are filing a restraining order on me. You told me you would kick my ass if you ever see me, and to never come near you again (not like I was planning to go near you). You told me to send you the divorce papers in the mail and that you would take care of the rest. I did, however, return to Konaniís work to contextualize my actions, and to apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused him from those actions. I didnít remember that his father was shot in the chest, mutilated and left for dead. I didnít think my joke would be so terrible to him. Youíve told me to never talk to you or your friends again. I will respect your wishes and respect my new restraining order. I guess, what Iím trying to say is, Iím sorry, but I donít regret my actions. You and I will never converse again, except through these letters, but I wish you well in all your adventures. I donít expect anything in return.

With love Ė your soon to be ex-husband.

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Wednesday August 16th 2006, 10:01 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

I made an executive decision tonight. Iíve decided to quit using Friendster and Myspace. You and I started communicating on Friendster in August 2005. It seems like ages ago, but I remember that first inquisitive message you wrote to me. It said ďyou seem interesting, tell me about yourself ?.Ē And so I replied with a little autobiography, with hopes that I would meet you someday. Itís amazing how quickly our relationship developed using technology as the medium for our conversation. But the immediacy of our relationship proved to be the downfall of our love. We were halfway to marriage after our second conversation. We gave each other all we could in those initial moments of our bond. But we had to, in all actuality, because we were living in separate cities. We depended on the Internet to weave together the fabric of our love. But that fabric soon began to untie itself when we were in the settled position of marriage. I remember regretting buying you your birthday present during the initial stage of our breakup. The computer you were using, my gift to you, became the enemy of our marriage. In the heated passion of my rage, I wanted to smash your computer in the middle of the street. I wanted to kill that which was killing me. I almost became the monster I wanted to destroy so passionately. But, I denied myself that release. Even now, you use your computer daily to meet new people, to converse with your friends, to plan romantic encounters with your new bed buddies. But we all know just how transparent virtual self is; we all know how transparent the physical self is as well. Thatís why you make a good partner to the technology you claim to hate so dearly. You align yourself with your projected virtual image, thus negating any real substance. I always thought it was funny how you try to connect with the underworld through your Myspace account. But in all actuality, youíre a spoiled princess who is revolting against your absent father, sans morals or substance. You are a wisp of an intellectual who claims to be a ďsocial chameleon.Ē If it werenít for your physical looks and your tendency to be a freak in bed, youíd have nothing characteristically to offer anyone. You use other peopleís hard earned philosophies to propel yourself from one person to the next. And this, my wife, is your virtual physical life. However, I digress. My point in all this is that Iím sick of this transparent meta-self I project online, I need to ground myself as well as my thoughts. Therefore, as of tomorrow, I will have nothing to do with those virtual avatar systems known as Friendster and Myspace.


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Wednesday August 16th 2006, 9:20 am
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters


This life is hell. This life of living a lie is torturous. It seems that the natural state of existence for the universe is motion. Therefore human life, a spasm lasting a mere 80 to a hundred years, if weíre lucky, can only be a lie that the universe is trying to either cover up or destroy. Itís no wonder why we as humans find so much conflict with our own existence. Gravity, the master of all humans, has been trying to kill us long before we ever knew of its powers. We have so much trouble dealing with death, when in all actuality, itís the natural-un-natural state of the universe. We are re-born into motion when we die. This planet seems to be a truck stop for Atoms, a place to fill up on hate, love and the occasional scoop of ice cream. When we move on into the void, we become the void, thus re-uniting ourselves with the natural state of the universe and continuing our path of frictionless motion. Humans use happiness as a crutch, ďOh, no, Iím too happy to die. Just go ahead without me, Iíll catch up later.Ē Sadness brings us closer to the actualization of our own death, and therefore, we strive to be happy for the finite 80 or so years we exist (or dodge existence). So maybe the post-mortemists are right when they speak of death and decay as the ultimate goal of humanity. But, they donít take their philosophy far enough because life is not just about the death and decay we experience in the present moment. No, death and decay are mere symptoms of the absolute goal of humanity, which is to reunite with the entropy of the universe. In these terms, death becomes the ultimate blessing god can give us. We re-unite with the spiraling energy of the cosmos. This has nothing to do with metaphysics. Consciousness and the spirit are projections of neurological connections, and are the cause of conflict against gravity and the ultimate. The Ďabsolute truthí Hegel speaks of, the Ďwill to powerí Nietzsche describes, and the cogito of Plato; all these descriptions are rhetoric describing the force of our enemy, the motion of the universe. This static and myopic existence will only serve us so long. And then, like a gas attendant letting us know his station has closed, we will be forced to move on, into the void in which we belong.


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Tuesday August 15th 2006, 12:40 am
Filed under: Hate Letters,Love Letters

Mrs. Buhl,

Quicksilver tells me to get over it. ďGet a grip,Ē he says. Bjorn offers suggestions for distractions. ďDo some jumping jacks, play violin, run around naked,Ē she tells me. Mary says that sheís been there, that things will get better with time. ďWow, she really had that much affect on you?Ē mary asks surprisingly. Morgan, my friend in Arizona, told me Iím young and beautiful. ďYouíll get over her, you have your whole life in front of you,Ē she optimistically said. Maria, my friend from work sympathizes with my psychosis, but still says, ďyouíll work your way through this.Ē My mother tells me I have too much to offer to worry about one girl. ďYou have so much to give the world, donít be sad about that.Ē My bother, whose girlfriend just left him, empathizes with me by telling me ďyeah, that sucks man.Ē Boomer, my friend from Chico, tells me to keep a strong head. He says, ďPlayer, stay strongĒ. Kaity, my ex-girlfriend form high school tells me, ďyouíre so special. Why let one just ruin that?Ē Alexia, my best girl-friend tells me how hideous you are. ďMindyís way too skinny and ugly for you.Ē Josephine from Los Angeles keeps reminding me how loved I am by all my friends in there. ďWe love and miss you Mister,Ē she says. Corey, my most inspirational Artist friend, who thinks in terms of tangents and trajectories, continues to boast about the good times. ďWha-hoo!Ē he shouts over the phone to me. My father, whoís been through a few divorces, tells me about the pain it caused him, but how thereís light at the end of the tunnel. ďFor a few months, you fell like the world is ending. You fell like youíre dying. And then, all of the sudden, itís over, and you wonder what you ever saw in the girl.Ē Phil, my cousin in Glendale, reminds me that weíve all been fucked over by someone, and how it doesnít really ever get any easier. ďYou just have to learn to cope with it,Ē he says. Even you, my dear wife, have offered me advise as how to deal with this situation. ďStop self-loathing. Get over it. Move on.Ē With all these words of advice, one would suspect Iíd be doing better than I am right now. However, I donít think there are any words that can stop the pain from inside me. None.

ĖMr. Donham

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Monday August 14th 2006, 10:42 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

Ms. Ran-Away Buhl,

I’m alone, again, like always, thinking about your friends here in the city. I can’t say I’m jealous of your friends, specifically, because I don’t actually like any of them. They were always so insincere to me, except maybe Justin, which is why I dislike him even more than the rest. I know it was you who jumped him after your drunken game of chess (I can’t see him having the balls to make the first move), but still, there’s the matter of common decency that Justin should have respected. Clearly the fucker can care less about me, but when we talked in the past, he had an earnestness that I appreciated. Silly me for being such a terrible judge of character. I guess that goes for you too. I misjudged your character Mindy. I thought you actually had a caring heart, a compassionate center for those who try to do right. I tried, I tried to love you so much. Maybe I was trying too hard, but should I be punished for such conviction? I find your nature abhorrent. You are someone I use to love, someone I would have given my life for, someone I did give my life for, and now, you are a heartless beast, a mindless monster, which makes me feel nauseous when I picture you in my head. It’s a shame I picture you so often, otherwise I might not feel so sick all the time. You tried to make me feel so guilty for having a place to go after our breakup, but you have no idea how alone I am. I have NO ONE to hold me at night, no one to reinforce my sanity, no one to ground me. I have no one here to help me; plus I can’t afford therapy from a professional. So what’s a boy like me to do? How am I going to survive on my own? If only you could have tried to work through all this, instead of kicking me out, sentencing me to walk this terrible and treacherous road alone.


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Saturday August 12th 2006, 10:45 am
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

My Pal,

What can I say about today? I was at a coffee shop, the one I use to tell you about on Mission and 16th Street. I stepped outside for a smoke; as I was standing on the curb, a man walked towards me, quoting Kerouac, Joplin, Hendrix, Shakespeare, Williams and Ginsberg. I was terrified at how internally brilliant he was juxtoposed to how disturbingly insane he looked. He was foaming from the mouth and the smell of alcohol wafted from his breath and into my nostrils. I was perplexed, to say the least. But beyond his filthy smelly outward appearance, besides his intoxicated state, I could see the beauty in this manís eyes. His words were words of Love meant for destruction. ďWeíll destroy them with our love, weíll beautifully kill them.Ē Who was he talking about? I realized that this man, Kevin, was speaking about any force that stood in the way of the love he was giving. Kevin had been on a 9 day drinking binge because a girl he loved chose an Ecuadorian man, who had money, over Kevinís love. ďBut how can we destroy them?Ē Kevin asked me diligently. ďWeíll love them to death!Ē he replied while thrusting his kung-fu-fists into the air, almost hitting an innocent passerby. What I found most beautiful about Kevin were three sentences he spoke: 1) ďIf youíre sad and down, get over it, laugh and make those around you laugh.Ē 2) ďDrop your ego and roll around in the street for 5 minutes; get back up and move on.Ē 3) ďWhere is there? There is no there!Ē I stayed with my drunken companion for a couple of hours. I sang and laughed and pondered my own happiness (and sadness). Iíve been so desperate these past few days that Iíve forgotten how to laugh, and how to make other people laugh as well. I use to be so good at the latter. I emailed you last night telling you I was too sad to talk to you on the phone and to complement you on the ďnice picturesĒ you posted online. I havenít gotten a response from you, and I donít expect one. I push you away, and you enjoy being pushed further from me (into someone elseís love). And so goes the nature of us.

Your Pal.

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Friday August 11th 2006, 8:07 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters,Love Letters


I canít say that Iím trying to get better because I donít know the steps to healing this dementia. I want to get better, not to show you my improvement or to prove Iím a healthy person, but because I donít want to die, not yet at least. My brain feels like it is shutting down, even when Iím wide-awake. The immediate space around me feels miles and miles away. Iím drinking coffee to see if I can wake my brain up, but I doubt any amount of caffeine can pull me back to reality. There must be a way to renew my connection with the world around me. What I am feeling is the consequence of an overloaded limbic system. Itís almost as if my brain is fried from too much stimulus. I short-circuited a chip on my motherboard. Maybe this is what a lobotomy feels like? I have nothing in common with the regulars in this coffee shop. How can I make friends when my brain wonít allow me to a) communicate with others b) feel anything c) think of other things than my own sorrow and despair and, most importantly, d) get over the dementia. I coddle myself at night. I tell myself that Iíll be all right, that I made it another day, which is progressive to say the least. Iíve become my own best friend. You have Justin, your fuck buddy, and I have myself. I remember you asked me if I had someone comfortable to go back to, someone to fuck, and I said ďnoĒ. No, I donít have that. I only have my fucked up thoughts and myself. So now whoís the lucky one, the one with people to catch you when you fall? Youíve won. Go revel in it like the little brat youíve become. Iím so lost. I donít know where to go, where to turn to for help. I donít want to take this medication anymore. It makes me feel strange, worse than how Iíd feel without it.



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Thursday August 10th 2006, 8:49 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters


I feel ill. My stomach burns and my head is spinning. I canít tell whether or not these terrible feelings are from not eating or from my psychosis. This depression is devastating. When I see my reflection in the mirror, Iím shocked at who Iíve become. My face has become a wretched site as I cannot smile and I cannot look excited about life. Iíve been drained of something lovely. I am the antithesis of Love. How can I expect to get my life back together when I look the way I do? My eyes are swollen and empty. My cheekbones press firmly against my skin. I lose myself when I stare into the void that is my essence. ďWhere did Chris go?Ē I wonder. Outside seems scary to me. Itís hard for me to leave the house. Maybe Iím terrified of all the possibilities of death that waits for me outside. When I step outside for a smoke, I tremble with fear. This is in such stark contrast to how well I was doing a week ago. All I want to do is lay in bed with the covers over my head. But even when I do that I feel dizzy and deserted. Iím feeling so self-destructive today. I think itís best for me not to go anywhere. Fuck, I can barely get out of this chair in which Iím sitting, let alone leave the house. Iím hoping these destitute feelings will dissipate eventually. I need a friend to come over and hug me. At least you have that. All of your friends would gladly hug you; they would gladly fuck you too. Hell, what are friends for if not a good fuck? Iím hurting so badly right now. Numbness would be a blessing. I think I am going to try to lie down for a while. Hopefully my stomach will stop burning by the time I get back up. I feel disconnected from my body. My feet seem so far way from my thoughts that I practically donít even own them. These are such dark times for me. Even though the sun is shining so vividly I do not see its light. You have no idea how hard this is for me. I doubt youíll ever know.


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Tuesday August 08th 2006, 11:53 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters


You just donít know, and you just donít care. The pain and torment eat away at my thoughts. I have become a masochistic carnivore and I donít know how to feed this beast, besides by letting it destroy me. There were moments when I thought I had this monster tamed. Laughter and dance have always been able to turn the most hideous of creatures into the most docile of pets Ė but not anymore. Deeper and deeper I travel into the depths of its belly without any chance or hope or rescue. The irony of my own demise is that I will slay the monster with one last breath of air. Itís a gift that I will give myself, the power to kill the beast that is killing me. But there will be no reciprocation to this final and most secret of presents. But, what do you care anyway? Why should you care? After all, you stopped caring for me a long time ago. Your life will go on, as it always has, while my life will end. Itís sad to think of my own death, but I know no other options. Sadness is a temporal emotion, and will go away in Time. However, I will not bring myself to this task just yet. After all, I still have the life in me to endure this suffering; otherwise I wouldnít be here, in this coffee shop, writing to you. You are most likely at work today, helping poor animals, laughing with your co-workers. Iím jealous of you Mindy. But youíll never hear those words from my mouth (ever again). When you get home tonight, who will be sleeping in your bed dear wife? It doesnít matter to me anymore. Sleep with whomever you want; you could perform the most explicit acts in our apartment and it wouldnít matter. You are lost to me, a ghost in my mind. The destruction of myself has nothing to do with you anymore. This pain is my pain; this torment is my torment. But like I said, you just donít know. Youíll never know.



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Tuesday August 08th 2006, 9:29 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters


I awoke shivering and tremulous, my hands could hardly function. Last night I went to sleep as early as I could. I didnít trust myself to be anywhere but in bed. That picture is burned on the back of my retinas. Even when I close my eyes, it shines vividly, as if I were forced to watch the most horrific of movies all night. I had no rest last night. The more I thought of it, the more pain I was in. And there was no off-button in this ordeal. I couldnít stop itó I could only masochistically suffer. Why does your image bother me so much? I feel like Iíve relapsed back into the first moments of our break up. The whole architecture of my sanity has collapsed beneath me once again. When you told me you fucked Justin, that didnít nearly affect me as much as those photos of you online. I wonder if it has something to do with the public nature of your display. Possibly, I feel that those photos should have stayed private, and especially out of my mindís eye. The power of a photo is merciless. Fuck, Iím an artist; I should have known this from the beginning. We humans understand the world as an image. From Television to movies to billiards to (most of all) the Internet, the world has flattened into a virtual screen of drying cement. But Iím sick of re-learning who you are through photos and bios. Iím quitting Myspace and Friendster. The temptation to look at you is too great, and it only causes me more pain and misery. You, are the cause of my instability. But Iím also sick of blaming you for shit that I can control. So, Iíll work on getting myself out of this insane position, while youíll keep doing what youíre doing without caring at all about me. Fuck you. Youíre not the woman I married. Soon your powers will be have no effect on me, as mine are defenseless against you.

With insane thoughts,


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Monday August 07th 2006, 2:34 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

To the worst part of my day: Yes you.

How can I describe the suffering your images have caused me today? I was planning on having a nice day, one without anxiety, fear, cold sweats, chills, and above all, without my heart breaking into a million different pieces. You bitch, you cheating bitch. I know, itís not my responsibility anymore to care about you, to think in terms of us, but how could you post such horrific displays of coldness? You and your fuck buddy Konane can eat shit and die. When I saw the pictures you posted online, a wave of numbness surged through my body. I went into shock. To see your legs spread over his, to know what you two must have indulged in, you dirty fuckers. How could you do that, and then display those photos publicly? Are you trying to kill me? Do you not care at all that I am suffering over this? I couldnít feel my body for two hours after seeing those pictures. I didnít know what to do, so I rode my bike to the park. Have you ever tried to ride a bike while crying; have you ever tried to bike when you canít even feel your own body? I didnít care about cars, life or death. You did this to me today. Iíve made my first appointment with the therapist I canít afford. Iím lost because I have lost. And you wrote to me today asking, ďI thought you were doing OK, what happened?Ē Iíll tell you what happened: You happened. And I never thought Iíd say this, but I wish you hadnít. I wish I never met you. Youíve ruined something beautiful in me, and you didnít have to lift a finger. I am shocked by your ruthless bratty behavior. You must know what youíre doing to me. You must know how this is killing me. And if you donít, shame on you! Shame on you anyways for posting those pictures, for everything youíve done to hurt me. Shame on you for not caring about me, shame on you. I just canít imagine how unsympathetic you are, how blatantly selfish youíve become. I donít even know if youíre worth my hate anymore. Youíre worthless dear wife. Iím sick with disgust.


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Sunday August 06th 2006, 11:08 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

Thereís an imminent pressing force surrounding my thoughts and actionsóConsumption. Iíve lost so much weight in the past few months; I hardly eat at all. Well, then where does my money go? Iíve been out of work for the past month, so obviously I havenít had a source of income, but honestly, I donít understand why Iím so poor. Ha. I remember once telling you, wealth is a state of mind, not a financial income. Maybe thatís why I feel so poor these days. My mental health has not been well for the past week. Iím considering seeking professional help, but I canít really afford that either. My doctor prescribed Lexipro for my depression; I doubt Iíll take it regularly. Fuck, listen to all this. I consume myself with my own depression. My body is eating itself, my thoughts are eating themselves, and my bank account is eating itself. This force, this Consumption is gobbling away into my psyche. I donít even want to get out of bed in the mornings Ėunless of course I dream of you, which in case I jump out of bed terrified and confused. I am excited about work starting again next week. I need something to ground me, to keep me from floating away. I talked to my friend Josh last night, about suicide. Itís ironic really. He used to be the one I would convince that suicide was a terrible cop-out for selfish people. Now it doesnít seem that way at all. Sure people will be sad for a while, but theyíll manage. Theyíll continue on like good little Darwinian robots. History uses humanity to progress itself. History is just as selfish as the boy who kills himself. Of course we can talk about this later, darling. Sorry to be such a bore.

-Christopher Robin.

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Sunday August 06th 2006, 3:15 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters


Itís not very nice of you to haunt my dreams the way you do. This morning, I dreamt you still loved me, that you wanted to hold me and lay next to me. I immediately awoke from the dream terrified. It seemed so real, so warm to my senses, so close to happiness. Yet, like a child ripped from the womb, I was torn from this comfort and awoke to the cold lonely empty room in which I am writing this letter. Iíve been crying recently. Tears are annoying when itís windy outside. Last night I was out in the Mission. I befriended a junkie named Glaze. He was selling ďoutfitsĒ for a dollar. I didnít know what outfits were until he showed me. They are the unused syringe needles that heroin users buy. His business wasnít doing so well even though I think it is a some-what respectable profession. He wasnít selling any drugs to put in the outfits, just the needles. I asked him if he used as well, and he was honest with his reply, ďYup, but I do crack.Ē Iíve never bought crack before, so out of morbid curiosity, I asked him how much crack costs. He told me he could get a ďtenírĒ for seven dollars. I didnít know what a ďtenírĒ was, so I inquired further. I came to find out a ďtenírĒ is two hits of crack. In terms of the drug users and pushers on Mission Street, between 16th and 19th thereís smack, crack and needles. From 19th to 22nd you can get pot and powdered cocaine. Not that I would buy any drugs from those people. In fact, I donít even do drugs these days; but, for some reason, I found this information fascinating. Anyways, Iím going on and on about last night. Itís funny really, all the crack-heads and smacked out folk donít scare me at all. What scares me are my own dreams. Today I will meet with an old friend in your and my old neighborhood. Iím sure it will be awkward because I donít feel well today. I only wish you cared, like you did once before, like you did in my dream.

With thoughts and tears,


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Saturday August 05th 2006, 2:00 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters


Today you asked me, in response to my email, a simple question, ďHow are you?Ē I replied, ďHonestly, not well.Ē But that was as far as I could articulate my distress. I wanted to write, ďIím depressed, lonely, upset at the world, self-loathing, insecure, ready to dieĒ. I wanted to write, ďI miss you. Iíd love to talk to youĒ. I wanted you to call me, to tell me you missed me as well. But these are mere desires, a product of your seduction, of my wanting to be seduced by you. I wonder what youíre stressed out about. I wonder who you are today, who you ever were at all. I understand you no longer have feelings for me, but I still miss hearing about your feelings. I miss sleeping next to you. I miss trying to make you laugh. In the end of our marriage, I could never make you laugh. I donít think I ever will be able to do that again. I feel powerless, stripped of any way to reach out to you. Iím sitting in my room right now, staring at these words that are somehow being written on this page, but all I can think about is you. I project your image on top of these words. I donít just think about your laugh, I hear it in the back of my head. I really do hope youíve found someone else to make you laugh. Maybe itís this looming sadness hanging over my head? I donít know what to do about this. Maybe thereís nothing I can do. I feel so hopeless. The world is stuck, concrete in its image. The visible bores me and the invisible alludes me. But these are things I cannot articulate to you in the present moment. You roll your eyes anytime I speak about my emotions, and that is why we cannot be friends. You are mean to my sadness. You kick me when Iím down. Please, donít ask how Iím doing. Itís not fair.


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Friday August 04th 2006, 4:17 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

Dear Child,

The day has barely begun and already my thoughts are whirling about Ė they are so proactive. Despite this heightened mental activity, my recent dreams, I must say, involve an unusually high level of monotony. No matter the subject or plot, there seems to be a meta-narrative simultaneously existing throughout the whole night. You are there, in my dreams, as always. And thus I wake-up each morning, thinking about you. Sometimes I recall wonderful instances in our past: Other times, I focus on the pain this has caused me. Either way you are the center of all the energy that comes out of this banal meta-narrative. But the day is beautiful, dear Mindy. The sun is shining brightly and the temperature is somewhere in the 80s. Itís a lovely day, Love. I wish you were here, physically, to play with me today, but instead you sent your memories to play with my emotions. Even though I feel anger, rage and sometimes hate, I still love you. Oh, Iím sorry, I didnít mean to say that this early. [Awkward pause] Letís move on, you know, like how you moved on from me. Yes, thatís where weíll goóYou didnít love me, long before we broke up. You were comfortable with me, which obviously caused you problems, which led to you not wanting to have anything to do with me. PLEASE STOP LYING TO ME ABOUT THIS. I could feel the discontent you had for our marriage. Just because I can logically describe your emotions doesnít make me wrong. Yeah anyway, the day is lovely. And I venture into it alone, ready for anything and nothing.


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Wednesday August 02nd 2006, 11:01 pm
Filed under: Love Letters


Happy godless Saturday night love! Where are you tonight? What are you up to? Whose warm body is lying next to you, possibly erect inside you? Iíve been well, my love. No, I lied. Iíve not been well at all. Can I be honest for a moment? Today has been shit. I havenít had a moment of peace. My thoughts are crawling inside me like a tapeworm. I fear the worst; I fear that this cerebral parasite will soon surface to collect and devour the remains of its host Ė namely, me. But letís not speak in ill-tongued metaphors any more. This depression is causing me to question the ultimate questions. I feel destitute. It is possible, and this is just speculation, that these depressive tendencies have been inside me for a very long time. Possibly, Iíve tucked them away deep inside my consciousness, and have denied their existence. Maybe these feelings of absolute sorrow were waiting in the darkness of my mind, hoping some unsuspecting catalyst would step into their trap. You, my dear, might have been that catalyst –a fly in a spiderís web. But maybe Iím giving you too much credit, and not fulfilling my own egoís need for survival. I donít know the answer to these hypotheses, but I wonder if you do. Were you an unsuspecting pawn in my psychosis? Did you not hurt me as I recall so vividly? Did you not fuck Justin a month after we separated? Did you not give up on us? Did you not project to the world just how single you were while I was still living in the apartment? I am angry right now Love, but at least its not depression. I hate depression. Itís so lethargic and apathetic to all our other emotions.

With angry questions,


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Tuesday August 01st 2006, 11:19 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters


Itís 2:00 pm on a Saturday in June. I am downtown right now, of course, thinking about you. The last time we were in this neighborhood together was the day you met Jhonen at the APE convention. That was the first day you came to my work as well. I remember being upset at you because you had changed your attire to a complete black ensembleówhich looked lovely, by the way, fitted with high heels and everything. It pissed me off, however, that you werenít dressed up for me, or for yourself even, but for Jhonen. You dolled yourself up for your ďfriend.Ē Why? WHY did you do that? I never asked you about this, but it was something that lingered in my mind throughout the day. What were you trying to prove to this guy anyway? The next day was the day all of this (and by ďthisĒ I mean our break up) occurred. After the terrible dinner we both endured, after your look of complete dissatisfaction with me and with your life, you went to see Jhonen at his hotel room at midnight. ďDoes it bother you?Ē you asked. I replied ďNoĒ as I sat at my desk, pondering your gestures, your need to look pretty for Jhonen, and all the rest of my fears that had built up during the past month of our marriage. But, you know how this story ends, so Iíll try not to recap the plot. I would like to say, however, that you are at fault for this just as much as I am. So how dare you accuse me of not being trustworthy? How dare you blame me for hurting you? How dare you make me feel weak about my emotions post-breakup? Who do you think you are, you little brat? And this is why you ďshut offĒ and ď moved onĒ. You denied yourself the dialectical understanding of the reality of our relationship. And you are a coward for not grieving. You think youíve moved on but in actuality you just stepped backwards into your own void (example #1 Ė Justin [fuck Justin]). Anyways, I have to go now. But thanks for nothing.


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Tuesday August 01st 2006, 10:42 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters,Love Letters


Let us once again embark on an adventure of thought. Let us sail away from the shore of materials, and journey into the sea of memories. I remember a girl I once knew, a girl who wanted to know love once again in her life. I remember her clearly. She was a beautiful presence, stunning beyond all belief. Her physical beauty only mimicked her internal self, as I recall. She was quiet, young at heart, and believed in love. When I met her for the first time, I instantly knew she and I would form a love so powerful that no one could stand in our way. We were to be the epitome of loveó that sacred being that is True love. I remember her warmth, caress, lips, voice and most of all her expression. I remember how I would fantasize about us being together. I remember marrying this girl I once knew out of the love we shared. It was an amazing connection that I shared with this girl. We built our new life together: we shared a home in San Francisco. I remember how hard it was to leave everything behind so that this girl and I could look towards the future. Our future was to be as bright as the sun itself. Our love was to be more expansive than the ocean herself. My wife became my angel, a presence inside me that embodied my thoughts. I remember making Love to this Angel. There are no words to describe the beauty of our lovemaking. This girl, this Angel, had become my life. But I also remember the fear I had in this new life. I remember not wanting to talk to my goddess about my fears. I wanted to continue moving forward as I hoped my fears would dissipate. Though I digress. I will keep this crusade of memories consistent to the thought of the girl I once knew. But let me clearly state, this girl, these memories, are mere phantoms of thought. To my surprise, my eternal Angel has died. You, M, have killed the beauty that was the essence of her vitality. You have drowned the poor child in a pool of freezing thoughts. You have murdered my love. So, here we end our voyage, in the cold murky waters of hate and despair. Get off this boat. I hope you can swim when your obese thoughts are tied to your thin waist, otherwise, you may drown as well. Oh the irony of it all Ö


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