Friday April 20th 2007, 3:02 am
Filed under: All Letters,Hate Letters

To the midnight mania,

It was burlesque Goth night at Miss Kitty’s palace of pleasure. Bjorn invited the whole gang to come out and experience this dark and devious establishment. When we arrived at the palace, which looked nothing like the title suggested, Jon and Arturo pulled out their bag of mushrooms and engorged in a magical trip full of psychotropic wonder. Since I was driving that night, I declined to indulge in the pleasures of hallucination, however my plan was to enjoy the dance floor with a few drinks in me. Inside the palace was a complete surprise to me, considering the walls of the palace; videos of men fucking other men, women sucking men off and women sucking women off filled my visual frame. I couldn’t help but to feel stimulated by such erotic imagery. I began to realize how long it had been since I’ve got laid, and the reasons why I have not, as of late, had that kind of physical pleasure in my life. And of course, I then thought of you. You were to be my eternal source of pleasure, not just physical pleasure, but mental and spiritual pleasure as well. You being my partner, I meant that you were the other half of me that could give me what I needed to continue life as a fulfilled individual. But as we both know, these were mere fantasies of thought when juxtaposed next to the truth and history of our marriage. I wanted your pleasure, yes. However, at the time, I was uncertain about certain things: you wanting to please me, your need for pleasure yourself, the delicate balance between pleasure and comfort and my ability to accept such pleasurable states of being from you. The more I think about our pleasure dynamics, the more curious I get about how blinded by pleasure I must have been to not see these uncertainties as a flaw in our system of love. We were flawed Mindy; I’ll be the first one to admit this fact. But these moments of imperfection were natural and normal; they were to be expected. No system is flawless. However, every system has ways of operation that convert flaws and blemishs into desired beauty marks. These conversions are not easily accessible and individuals have to work out the details of the equations, but once a formula is set, any problem can be solved. Jeez, I sound like the geek that I am. It’s no wonder why you dumped me. And yes, that is how I perceive our break up. You threw me out of the apartment because I wrote a letter that said you are an emotional coward and that I didn’t marry out of love. Those inebriated lies got me kicked out, broken hearted and numb to the world. All senses of pleasure have ceased to exist for me. Not even Ms. Kitty’s palace of pleasure can cheer me up. I am a sad, numb, lonely boy, trying to reestablish some sort of pleasure-factor in my life. And even though my heart is still with you, my mind hates you. Logistically, I’m jealous of your ability to regain your sense of pleasure so quickly after our break up. The unfathomable intrigues me, and therefore I torment myself by answering your calls, questioning what you’ve been up to and how you’ve been feeling. And even though I can predict the general sense of your response to my mundane questions, it still shocks and hurts to hear how well you are doing. As time goes by, I become more lonely and depressed; my pleasure system is malfunctioning, just like the way our marriage malfunctioned– it’s falling apart from the inside out while the seams still stay attached, until the very end, when there’s nothing left inside to hold myself together.

-The seamstress

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