The Seventeenth (But First Open) Letter to Andrew Gross
Kafka died a few days ago. The fear that I would slip away with him was overwhelming.
Couldn’t sleep. Thought I wouldn’t wake up. Instilling a perfect fear of death. Unable
to operate under those conditions. So the fear lays dormant. The fishing is good here; It sustains
me. I am half looking forward to and half dreading next year. Maybe the system will give me the
forward motion I need and have needed for a long time. I miss people. . . I don’t know
weather that is specific beings or just in general. What is our deal? Most friends are “there
for each other” and that really doesn’t apply to us. . . At least in the conventional
since. We have to much hesitation. Far to much. I realized the other day that when I die (or before
hand) that people will be able to understand me at least in some since. I will have left behind
letters and diaries and music for anyone willing to look for it. This makes me content. I had a
dream the other night Shatner was a room mate of mine we were close but didn’t talk much he
died and I had to take care of his dog. . . Felt more emotion then I have in awhile. I won’t
have enough money for everything next year. I will run out of food money near the end of the year
que sera sera. I should update the medium page I have more then a few songs. I want to mix the
failure with something half good and that may take awhile. I am afraid of what you said before.
That were done talking. I don’t really know what to do about that. I know there are things
you don’t know but I’m afraid you will have to ask for them. As any one can and no one
does. People seem to have a fear of these public forums for things like this but we know the truth
is. If we have transcended anything it should be lies.