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Saturday September 16th 2006, 2:04 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters,Love Letters

My enemy,

There is a vacillation of emotion today: first I skip to the beat of a new song, as if the Angels themselves were banging on their war drums. Secondly, I pause in the moments between songs to mourn for the loss of my fallen brethren. However, when the call to war sounds again, Iím back to my post as a happy pawn in the godís wartime musical. Few follow in the Angelsí footsteps, and the path to triumphant victory seems solemn and only large enough for one body to pass at a time. Single-file lines of separate conscious states build the hierarchy of my march. My mind has psychologically chiseled into an army of warriors, all lined up with their individual special traits, as well as all their hidden weaknesses. Iím shielded by my egoís protection, a primordial force field of strength and power. My vision is omnipotent through my loveís all-seeing floating eyes. I can shoot words of wisdom from my mouthís projective presence, or I can blast my enemy with twirling paradoxes and whirling dialectics. With the slightest gesture, I can penetrate my enemyís defenses using the pen as my weapon of choice. But what I enjoy most is a subversive offense through song and dance. Like the pied piper I cozy up to you my antagonist, with verses of prose, sung loud if need be, or sung soft and gentle like a motherís sweet songs to her baby lamb. And when I am close enough to strike thee, dear enemy, I can use my fear to my advantage and show you the inner depths of what scares me, causing confusion and chaos amongst your warriors, reflecting upon what it is to be a product of such fear. I am the mirror of your warriorís inner struggles. When my fears become their fears through pure projection and self-realization, your men will fall to their knees in empathetic terror. With their hands to their sides, I can breath words of compassion into the air, words so gentle and soothing that the angels themselves will stop beating their drums long enough to listen to my lonely destructive lexicon of death. And for those rebels who are especially deflective of my attack, I will strike those renegades down with the softness of my lips, a kiss for each and every enemy who defies the Angelsí calling. And what will you do then, my dearest general? What sorts of political means will you use to save your own precious life? As I drop my defenses and lower my ego, you will see me unarmed, nude, and crying, for I know the end is drawing near. You see thereís no use for a warrior without war. And when man no longer can attack other men, man will eventually attack himself. Therefore, I deliver to you a treaty of peace, until the next time the Angels decide to call upon us to wage war amongst ourselves. Neither you nor I will disagree to this truce because after all, narcissism is the only reason we follow the Angelsí decree in the first place.

-Your ally.

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