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July 7, 2002 See this letter in the author's own hand: page 1 - page 2 - page 3 - addendum 1 - addendum 2 - all transcribed
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July 7, 2002 See this letter in the author's own hand: page 1 - page
2 - page 3 - addendum
1 - addendum 2 - all
transcribed
Rome, Maine, Dan's primitive camp
Lord i can't change. i got to fly free, free bird yeah
What a great song. A kind of anthem for me…i guess. i listen to
it now, here deep in the Maine woods. True, not. Thoreau deep, not Henry's
Maine but something close, a close second for our age. No electricity.
No running water. Nothing but trees, a crystalline clear lake, the mice
running amok in the trailer, & me sitting aside writing by citronella
tiki torch lamplight, not a human soul around. And being as it is so very
much harder to escape people in this logarithmically multiplied over populated
world of today, i'd say this is probably "more" secluded than
Thoreau's savage Maine, savage as compared to 1850's Concord, MA. Thoreau
hated Concord. Can't say i blame him. Harvard graduate yet total existential
wingnut hermit, he just knew too much – or thought he did –
as do i. In any case, i don't really claim to know anything. i just observe.
And like an infant baby in some controlled "color test" i cringe
at pastels, giggle at day-glow, am soothed by black, saddened by gray.
And like the infant in the test, i let you know. i kick, i scream, i laugh,
i dream. And i try not to let the day pass without saying how i feel about
something!
But back to the free bird anthem, it was quite painful leaving CA this
past week to come here. i so wanted to spend a few hours or a night with
my beloved Colby in San Clemente & so arranged to go there en route
from Idyllwild (by way of Mom's) to LAX. And Colby and i slid in beside
one another, spiritually anyway, like two shining bright locomotives with
the same secret extra horse-power recipe steaming through us as usual
and we drank blue drinks and pier between a blue sky and a still bluer
ocean and we laughed and we smiled and i impulsively kissed her bare shoulder
as we crossed the train tracks and we raved that next time we met we would
cash out a $20 and toss twenty "ones" into the Pacific and i
fell in love again as i always do with this woman but that night i went
to bed alone, and i cried silently to myself at the great & beautiful
tragedy and majesty of being…me. For Colby (although it was a moot
point because she had a new bf) was unavailable now physically and emotionally
but just emotionally four months ago when last we'd met in New Orleans.
Why? Why after ten years of friendship and desire why couldn't i have
this girl? i hadn't found out during our NOLA Mardi Gras rendezvous (which
by the way was a BIG deal to me romantically being the first time in a
decade that the two of us were single & in the same city together
and so the other night i asked. Point blank. Just so. Why? What went wrong
between us in NOLA and why? Are you not attracted to me sexually? Her
answer damn near killed me. YES, she's attracted to me blah blah blah,
but…BUT WHAT? Oh, no. DON'T TELL ME! and she told me. And perhaps
i instinctively knew or perhaps she'd already told me but i'd been too
drunk to hear, but HERE it is. i'm her hero. i'm a legend to her. A maverick.[...]
A god. A guy who just doesn't give a damn, does what he's creatively "called"
to do, and doesn't give up.
Now i sit here deep in the Maine woods, and i wanna cry some more but
i'm too tired from a day of hard physical labor. i want you, Colby. i
will always want you. It's just gonna take a while to adjust to this idea
that i'll only ever have you as a fan.
RSM
Write Me!