There are People

everywhere. That we should not be amazed at the variousness and the uniqueness is amazing to me. I buy most of what Stein writes but not her adherence in The Making of Americans to the position antithetical to this. Although, for having achieved a comical form of minimalism, I salute her. I like you. I like what I know of your art. But there is a strain in you. An inferiority superiority complex that doesn't allow the opposite thing. But it pretends. You make obeisance so the foot will step on you that you might then twist the ankle, take down and then begin the process of slow digestion. But I never stepped on you. I see you though, you know. I know what you're positioning for. That much is transparent. I don't care. Very few want that. I hope you get it. You have the right friends for that. Good luck. And that it gives you peace. The War is everywhere. Some would say better the tongue bitten through than the glorious efflorescence of just and unjust rage inmixed. Some conscripts can never leave. Sometimes I think you mistake people who have left for ongoing combattants. I left. I don't know what you have seen. I suspect much more horrible than I have. And you mistake my mannerisms for my intent. They are quite distinct. You win. I cannot abide your peace. So many fathers in this lifetime. I got so lucky with my real father. I don't think I need any others. I don't even think American literature needs any others. But there are others who think like you do. And you will find them. And they will be possessed by your style and you can piggyback the rest in on that, you know? Just like Ezra. You're probably that good. And that toxic. Not in se. Just relative, you know? And I suppose I am that to you, so Peace Friend. I will enjoy watching your implosive ascent. When I'm not like listening to people with a more spiritually circumspect point of view.