Famous Black Trenchcoat:
July 11, 1998

Dear friend,

So, I was walking down Hilyard Street today after buying some CDs: The Heads, an ancient Toad the Wet Sprocket that I dimly remember, and, yes, a Kool and the Gang for when I'm bitten by the disco bug and want to get over the disorder as quickly as possible, the Chess soundtrack, which I've meant to replace for years and am listening to the second half of, right now,

...but it took time to understand the man, I know him so well...

and an Adrian Belew because he is a fine guitarman.

I stopped en route, on Hilyard Street by Sacred Heart hospital, interrupted by the sight of a gentleman later identified as Dave Oinberg [sic self]. He was lying on the street, on the left hand side, and cars were peacefully swerving as to not hit him. He was filthy, long haired, and it was later determined he'd soiled himself. Blood stained the pavement. I left Uncle Dynamite with him and sallied into Sacred Heart to let them know, half my brain thinking "This guy obviously has no money, how do they deal with this?"

...who'd ever guess it? this would be the situation, one more complication, should be neither here nor there, I wish I had it in me not to care...

But the pretty blonde secretary in the air conditioned lobby said she'd send security to check it out. When I got back to where he was, some yuppie type was calling it in on his cell phone. The was only the second time I've approved of cellular phones, the first was in the case of a blind person I know.

...and I wonder, does she know, I wouldn't call -- a crazy thing to do, just in case she said "Who?"

Two security guys, one was so baby faced I could barely judge his age, but he was probably over thirty. The other had brushy, short, dark hair and a hatchet face. We waited. A police car pulled up nearby to block traffic, then a fire truck, apparently with the same purpose, and finally a paramedic unit a few moments later.

...chasing a spurious starlight, trinkets in airports, sufficient to lead them astray...

The paramedics were fast, thorough, and remarkably careful given the general belief that Dave had taken a drunken spill. They moved him cautiously onto a rigid stretcher and braced his neck, battening him down with velcro strips and adhesive tape. Everyone seemed to know him. The babyfaced security man said, "He doesn't have his jacket like usual."

...they all think they see a man who doesn't know, which move to make, which way to go, whose private life caused his decline, wrecked his grand design...

I waited for fifteen minutes, partly from rubbernecky curiosity about the medical techniques, and partly because I wasn't sure if the police would want me to say anything. I don't know what they could've had me say: I didn't see him fall, I don't think it was a hit and run because it was in a busy street, and I was nonplused by that nobody did anything sooner. It was right on the same block as a hospital! I walked over and got help for him! Christ on a bun.

...and every poisoned word shows you never understood
Liar!
Never!
Liar!
Never!

So then I went and got my CDs, and some of that fine Barron's ginger ale, and now I'm up at the keyboard in my study. The room is cool for the first time in weeks, courtesy of a fantastic thunder and lightning storm at five this morning. Yeah, I was up at six in the morning too. I haven't eaten anything yet today either and it's about 11:30 in the evening. So?

...knowing I want you, knowing I love you, I can't explain why I remain careless about you
I've been a fool to allow dreams to become great expectations
How can I love you so much yet make no move?

I worked on my novel, because I'm moving into territory I haven't planned properly yet, which is both hard and ugly. Overall my writing is going well. At least, I have to keep telling myself that. Sometimes I get into this Spalding Gray "what am I doing working on this self-indulgent piece of poop?" mode but I can't let myself stay there. It's too easy to doubt, you know?

...if you hear today that I'm not quite so devoted to this affair, I've been misquoted...

I'm also planning to return to Canada soon, because I like it better there, and there's always work for technical writers anyhow. Yeah, I know, the idea of me writing software manuals has to be scary, but I actually do it pretty well. I enjoy explaining things, sometimes a bit too much. I got mail today that I am dying to respond to, for example, quite a bit of it. God, I want to answer it. Chewed off half my nails not answering it. But I mustn't, I promised, and I keep my promises... I'll leave it silent until asked to do otherwise. So I'm writing you instead.

...each game of chess means there's one less variation left to be played...

Also, I recently found out I'm coming into a little money from my distant past, in November of this year. I'm going to use it to go to Europe, I think. I want to see if life's the same everywhere. I know, I know, wherever you go, there you are, but there has to be somewhere where people care less about things and more about each other. Maybe I'll go open a brothel somewhere, I think I'd make a good madam.

...he tried to explain how things really had been, but he tried in vain, no words of his could mollify the queen...

My detective serial is on unfortunate hiatus, I say unfortunate because I enjoy collaborating on it a great deal. But we all have to choke some discomfort. I haven't been doing so well at that lately. I guess it's natural, pain's not something most people covet, either the giving or the receiving. I've been learning how to let go, in general, lately. It's an incredibly hard thing for me to do. I keep hoping that I'll find some magic word that'll clear everything, you know? But sometimes you have to just let things go. But I wish... I hope...

...next the Arabs refined it, thus redesigned it, progressed...

I'm burning incense to the fate god, but I don't know... But that's okay. But I'm still burning incense. I'm in something that has changed me for the rest of my life. Now I have to let it go, risk I won't have that sense of aliveness and growth again. But, how did Beethoven put it? Es muis sein, it must be. Pain makes it hard to be philosophical. But I still believe, I'll never stop believing.

...and in the end we see a game that started by mistake in Hindustan, and boosted in the main by what is now Iran, become the simplest and most complicated pleasure yet devised, for just the kind of mind, who would appreciate this well researched and fascinating yarn...

I heard somewhere that it's the weak that are cruel, that you can only expect gentleness from the strong. I expect its the perception of strength in me that has caused me to receive so many marriage proposals, business proposals, offers of places to sleep, offers of money for whatever it might be that I was planning to do. But I haven't been strong, I've been acid, intolerant, and angry.

...from all sides, this incessant and burning question, "Bearing in mind your predicament now, what you did then, we're just dying to know, would you do it all again?"

Those are terrorist weapons, and terrorism is a null trip, like they're finding out in Ireland right now. The real test of character is the ability to compromise with integrity. I've said that before, but I haven't lived it.

...each day got through means one or two mistakes less remain to be made...

Poor Florence and the poor Russian. But they're fictional characters, my friend, interesting, and perhaps with something to demonstrate, but unlike me, they're static. I'm glad I listened to it, because it was cathartic, but ultimately a little misleading.

So now I'm listening to Adrian Belew. No words at all.

There are things that I want passionately enough that I will do what must be done to get them. But fate god, please, be gentle with me. I'm trying.

Well! Time to shoot this off into the void. I've been hiding from my email all evening, but I think I'll just go to bed with Mr. American. Hope to hear from you soon.

I live to serve,

Auntie Dynamite