Insights

**(A note of no importance to no one in particular)**
In the last few years I have almost tried completely to remove myself from my school. And its interesting I’ve found it impossible to be completely unknown even if its just as ‘that guy’. I’ve convinced myself that I’ve learned something in the last few years and it’s lead me to believe that there is more to people then they let on. This however seems to distance me further from what I think they are. All this has just furthered my want to study people and really I’m not sure what good that does. Most people don’t seem to think that being a subject is a superlative. And maybe I’m just mucking up the language to think otherwise. But it seems the deeper and deeper you suppose people to be the less and less of them there seem to be. The resistance to any kind of closeness seems stronger then logic would dictate. And I have always been a slave to logic.
I find myself thinking I’ve hit the bottom, that there is no more to discover here. It’s fairly painful to invest so strongly in something that you discover is not Truth. I am rebounding, trying to figure out at what point I went astray, but my view is muddled. I try to recreate what I found the first time with little luck. I try to be as honest as possible but I don’t think people know quite how to react to it and I never know how much force to apply.
So why all the letters? They calm me to an extent and they show me where I’ve been and how little I’ve changed. I’ve trained myself to talk endlessly at a brick wall and wait patently for an answer. I’d like to actually do something here but I’m really out of ideas as to what that would be. There are a lot of people that I’d like to be closer to but its in my nature to wait for them. But then how many of us are here waiting. .

*Another letter to gross. Nothing even that interesting but thought I’d post something. If anyone wants a letter from me just ask and I’d be happy to write one.

We are equal distances from all things. I only say one thing but I will retool and calculate so that it will come out closer to what I mean. Glory and poetry seem to seep into my being. Slowly petrifying anger and fear. I am calm. I’m ready to start a pop band. We will speak to the public in there language about things that don’t need saying. This is not debasement its just a beat you can dance to. I want to be that guy in the local bar who you think sounds alright. I want to be lots of things. I’m more then fine with where I am. I have direction even if I have no speed. I’m far more curious about how others are moving. I write to waste my time and to mark the peaks and valleys of my oscillations. My mind is working all the time and out side the realm of ‘normal’ thought. I am brilliant in this if nothing else. I dream of electric shoes that will keep a beat for me and brilliant noise summoned by a flick of my wrist and a long chain of steal boxes. I dream so that my failure seems farther off. I can’t play love, or friendship, or sadness, or frozen milk on any number of strings.

It’s been an interesting first few weeks back here. I brought no pedals, only the clean Casio, and the normal dozens of acoustic instruments. I’ve been working on the technical aspects of my playing trying to memorize the fret boards of several different instruments. I’ve been exercising my hands constantly. I think I’m improving little be little but its left me with a lust for noise and a tangle of cables running into everything. And my damn comp keeps crashing so I suppose here is as good a spot to end as any.

nested parentheses and other idiosyncrasies

Just one quick letter and then I’ll start. It’s been two weeks and I still haven’t started. . . Its been longer three maybe is more accurate. This place feels better this year the trains don’t weep like I remember they did. I am settling into my own but the change needs to come faster than its coming. I always have a hard time studying I just can’t start. Tomorrow I’ll start. Tonight I have work to do. I’m going to be broke sooner then later but I can see what I want in this place and I am left inspired to no subtle degree. I live on my own I bake my own bread and cook my own food I wake up to a woman I love at least a few nights a week. If not for the damned university I am a farm house and a walnut grove short of . . .(We need a word for this and for some reason Heaven seems to come up short like you said its impossible) ‘The Walnut Farm’ and I’ll readily defend that it is here on earth. Its not so far from where we are now. I am thinking of doing an English paper on The Great Tower and the Debasement of Language. I don’t know if this is a good idea. It’s far to much for what he’s asking but I don’t know what else to do it on. It has to be personal And what’s more personal then how two people interact? Heh. The radio show is actually going to happen. Far less effort then I would have thought. Friday 4-6 AM. I need a name for the show if you have any ideas. Seems like I can see gleaming of something in the distance but the hurtles don’t seem to be any shorter or fewer then they were. How are you? And I mean how goes it? Seems the closer we are the more we (at least I) worry. Everything else is, for the most part, static. I’ve written a few songs in the short time I’ve been here and am finishing up a few more: Weekends(written in all of ten min about Fargo and drinking), Atlas revisited( you heard this one ‘all the good Christians’ (I can’t not say Chris-Tions hope fully its idiomatic(that’s the right word right?)))*Ah nested parentheses*(at least they are idiomatic) Lullaby No. 1 (for an unborn daughter) Lullaby No. 2 (electric) (this one might need your help its. . . Maybe ‘brooding’ is the word like your on the edge of tears). I tried to write a song about the tower didn’t take. But there’s Art in there somewhere I’ll find it sooner or later. Where are you going to grad school (or working when your done)? Too early to think about these things maybe. But I’m in a planning mood. I imagine a porch some where and all things falling in place. . . Magic until science explains it.

May the vast open horizons great you as pleasantly (I like that),
Your Brother.


-------------------

"The ice is near, the solitude tremendous -- but how calmly all things
lie in the light! How freely one breathes! How much one feels beneath
oneself!"

"He believes neither in "misfortune" nor in "guilt" : he comes to terms
with himself with others; he knows how to forget -- he is strong enough;
hence everything must turn out for his best."

"It also seems to me that the rudest word, the rudest letter are still
more benign, more decent than silence. All who remain silent are
dyspeptic. Rudeness is by far the most humane for of contradiction and,
in the midst of effemincacy, one of our foremost virtues."

"Oh, I found it, my brothers! Here, in the higest spheres the fount of
pleasure wells up for me! And here is a life of which the rabble does
not drink."

Brother, the sweetness in your verse swells me. You have already seen
with the greatest of solitude and I rejoice that you are able to look
with a gay heart. Don't remeber one or the other but forget both as it
is often hard for us to do. If Heaven is as easily found in the coldest
of days and the darkest of skies as it is in the Sun at self, only then
could I call that porch Heaven. Brother, I have binding myself and then
unravelling myself, I have been making circles but only escaping into
greater ones. I reach clarity everytime that I have completely missed
it. I have despised words and then I make love to them. But I think I
have come to terms with my own happiness, it is the same as my own
defeat, but still I look forward to a day of rest. I wish to drink from
the water that runs from the highest mountains and the from lowliest
caverns, and even I find my stream I don't know if I will find a place
to drink from it - I am sick of creating worlds, thoughts and grammars,
I simply want to dance with the ones that will always be there.

Work hard brother, we are but clay - we can only be molded until we are
too hard to feel.
Andrew.



Every Brick Independent or Answer the Damn Questions

Our letters don’t seem to follow each other I’m going to have a hell of a time trying to put them in order(and I will try). I find it odd that you never answer my questions. I know you must read every line several times. We both must. Your Nietzsche (I assume) has me still worried. His thinking seems flawed to me but I am no expert. It has been my experience that it is not the cave that creates the new ideas but the act of rushing down from the mountain in itself that calls the Muses. Well I must remember to be more artless. Do not forget the people, the real ones I mean. And maybe I mean everyone by that. I will have my first radio show on Friday at 4AM. My attempts to try and reach out have crammed me into a tiny room at 4 in morning with no one else around or even awake. I am enjoying this in the fullest. In the end I think people need to find me. The resistance the other way is almost too much to over come. I think the Catholics have ruined heaven for you. What’s the point of having a word for something no one can have or visit? It is only on cold dark days that your Heaven exists, dear Brother. On warm days we have God’s green earth and no Heaven can compare to that, to what is. . . Hmmm but we argue semantics and definitions. We should start a film or some other grate work. I feel that at least this is coming closer to poetry. I’m tempted to try my hand.

“Every brick Independent” The Mason said.

“How do you mean?” The Brick responds.

“Close proximity is a fault. Mortar makes the wall.”

“But ‘close’ is relative is it not?”

“Symmetry,” He said to the Brick “We both shaped and set that president long ago” as another layer compounds the other.

“So I’m bound to they that I can never touch” The brick said realizing his situation for the first time.

“You sound sad for someone surrounded by bothers” the Mason quipped, grinning and content.

“I guess it is my lot to accept but tell me” the Brick said “what’s the wall for anyway?”

“Every brick Independent” The mason said.


Heh. . . Well what do you think? Crappy little story but it shows my faults quite well. I like the idea but my skills are dull oh well.

Waiting for answers to my damned questions,
. . .



----------------------

I wish I had a sentence to describe how a sentence will never quite
express what I want to say . . . I guess this sentence is the best I can
do.

To answer your questions: I am doing, I do not want to say to much,
because I know that if I write the feeling down that feeling takes on an
appearance to be much more concreted and real that it actually is. But
as the ash falls from my cigarette, I am tired, the only rest I get is
to read Nietzsche, but even doing that is becoming difficult. I am tired
of listing in my mind and on paper all the things that need to be
ACCOMPLISHED, the list perpetuates itself and it wants only more.

I know why you don't get Nietzsche, you read pieces, excerpts, quotes,
or maybe even full books. You need to drive w/ Nietzsche around the Lake
as we do. You need to drive around the Lake with everything that I send
you. It makes no sense, it has no purpose but it is something beyond all
of our descriptions.

My point on Heaven . . . we can use the term Heaven, but why use a term
that has been beaten, molested and torn apart to express
(_____________). Why dont' we call it the porch, that is all I need to
to be anyways.

I like your poem - but I don't have much to say, I have lied to you too
much already today.

I don't know what I will do or where I will be after I graduate Jeff,
but I hope I will never be here again. And if I must stay here, in this
physical spot, I hope that I will have a porch here.

"May the vast open Horizons greet you pleasantly" (I like that too)
-From an inscription on my wall

Every one you know seems to be maturing? Who are these people? If you don’t think your mature enough for a “real collage” you might be surprised. . . You will be surprised. The growth your looking for may just come with a new situation. I really do think that putting your self in the freshmen dorms and just kind of jumping headlong into the whole thing would be a big help to you. (I didn’t really get that chance living in the hotel 75 for my first semester) This is as I’ve said before also selfish on my part (assuming you would come to NDSU) because I want you up here. I don’t think we ever had enough time to really get to know each other which is odd because its been along time. I guess I don’t understand how Brittany and the driver’s license makes us not be peers any more. That just doesn’t make any since to me. As for bleu I don’t remember that moment as clearly as you because I’ve had so many of those moments. That’s really how me and Gross got so close we studied film, probably a few hundred or so. Art has a way of unifying people. Its just a way of saying the unsayable. The people I know are what dives me forward its simpler for me to do things for other people then to do for my self. But do not fear; fear eats the soul. So come up to Fargo you might learn something and the change of scenery might do you good. Well do something anyway your not going to win this race standing still (and you probably already know that).

Yours in ten minuets or less (or your pizza is free),
Jeff Forshée

Here I am, 7 am, unable to sleep, so I figured I'd give a go at writing you a letter. It's come to my attention lying here staring at the ceiling, that it bugs me more and more as times go by how everyone I know seems to be maturing while I sit here stagnating, and honestly despite being two years out of high school, I don't believe my self mentally mature enough for a real college. While most everyone I know has been off making new friends, learning social skills, having the times of their lives, I've just been dawdling away my life because of some mistakes I made in high school and the time thereafter…

Another thing that part of me is trying to talk me out of saying is that part of me spites Brittany. She's never done anything to disserve ill feelings, and quite honestly has always come off as downright nice, but the childish part of me see's her as someone taking away a friend. I don't mean any offence by this, its just a… I suppose subconscious reaction. There is a selfish part of me that honestly wants to hold you back, part of me that didn't want you getting your license. Part of me that wants to keep us peers, so I can have someone I can relate to, but I digress.

I've spent this last week moping around, knowing everyone was going off, a couple of them never to return, and with Paul gone likely never seeing a good number of the ones who do return again anyway. I've been unable to sleep most of the week, and that’s led to a lot of reminiscing. For some reason the one moment that keeps coming up in my mind is when we watched Bleu in Gross's basement. You probably hardly remember it, but something about that crystallized in my mind, and is remembered as one of the highpoints of my life.

I just want you to know, never let me or anyone else for that matter hold you back, as if I could. I hope no offence was taken to this latter, none was meant. This ended up being a lot more honest than usual, perhaps more honest than I want to be, but oh well.

Wishing you the best,
Jesse Donat

I started a letter in my head. It began: “You know the sound that a pulley makes banging against a flag pole? That is how I feel right now.” It will not have a middle. It will not have an end. Sad dreams of distant happy tomorrows. I find myself arguing with the clock instead of working on art and the New Language. Car ride home with Tina and Michelle. Said blissfully too much. Contented. Just failed my driver’s test. Always calm about these things. I will have no problems next time. (Though that won’t be for three weeks so if I do me and the clock will come to a head.) Next year spreads out wide in front of me. The summer will have been a good one. I have been called a nice guy and a poet both by people who would know. Some one needs to yell at me to get music and comics up. Though it seems there really aren’t any fans of my music. Just called nick asked him what the deal was. . . He said who is this. . . I told him all else remains a mystery. Said he was at work told him to call me back. I found my self laughing through the whole conversation. Very Buda I think. Nick seems cornered I think, says “now is not the best time I‘m at work” is there anything more then yeah haven’t talked to you in a year. With the new language we build houses (aedificare) and bridges it seems. Could this turn out the same as our rift? Seems to good. But I am in high sprits now. I have a woman and a guitar there is love to make and songs to write. May the vast open horizons great you as pleasantly.

Yours in truth,
The eternally waiting, Jeff Forshée

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.

Babylon Fading

The story of Babylon has always interested me. it’s a theme in most of my artistic works that doesn’t show up as often as it should. Its always been my belief that it was not language but understanding that was shattered. And that is of course far more horrible. Now I also believe that this is just a story. I shutter to think that anything anyone calls God could do something so infinitely cruel. My point is that this is something that need to be fixed. We must all learn to communicate better. even if it’s a web of person to person connections that work its far better then what we have. This is what I refer to as “the new language” at some points. Really its just a greater personal understanding and a willingness to tell the truth. The truth is. That is the new language. Most people don’t seem to have a desire to know other people. All men are islands some of us build boats. The doodling and what not are most important because your truly creating something regardless of how crappy it is. I hope someone actually reads. I hope they point out how foolish and idealistic I am (as long as they do it well). Who else can we pull into this? Any one else want in? No? Ok then. . .

Yours truly,
A man with a boat.

One thing that’s been bugging me a lot lately is what’s the point of doing anything at all. For example, I’ve always liked to doodle/create, but I know there are probably billions of people out there who are magnitudes better than I. What’s the point is what I just can’t figure out. And yet I continue, but why, what drive to I have when I know I’ll never be good. I can’t even draw a straight line as well as my father. Is that because he was a draftsman? I don’t believe so, I’ve seen his high school works and the technics behind even some of the simplest things beat anything I’ve ever done. If I had just an ounce of that talent. Playing video games falls somewhat in this boat too. They are in no way productive. I gain nothing by playing them so what is the point. At least when I do something artistic I have something pretty in the end to look at. I don’t game nearly as much as I used to, even Oblivion, I am nowhere near as into as you. I collect, I have many many cartridges, discs, roms, etc that I don’t play. Whats the point of that? Some kind of just collection urge? I collect images, I have a folder full of just stupid images like a japanse guy with a frog on his head, do I use them for anything? You’re well aware how many 8 balls I have, how many lava lamps I have. I have seven graphing calculators Ti-82, Ti-83, Ti-83 Silver, Ti-85, Ti-89, Ti-92, and a Color Casio one. Three of them are within reach. What do I need these for? You know I have a huge movie collection; I have something like 300 movies, what percent have I actually watched? It’s pretty small. There is some kind of hording instinct in me.

On Of fear and the golden rule, for me it wasn’t a fear of pushing myself upon people perse. I guess I just always valid humbleness. I always liked just solid color shirts myself. During high school my mom would go to the store and come back with shirts with skulls and shit on them (I’ve no idea why she thought I liked that), but now I wear just solid colors. Yesterday I was at target wearing red shirt, khakis, and got asked “do you work here?” twice. Today, blue shirt, khackies. My fear of color is gone, I don’t know what happened. Its reflected in my art, in what I wear. Etc. There’s still no excuse for the color yellow though, ever.
It’s more of a tendency to think everything I ever do is a mistake, especially in a social context, rather than to think I’m forcing myself upon people, though I have to say I agree completely on the point that the people who isolate themselves, myself included want things thrust upon them. As you know, I am completely indecisive. This too roots from my complete fear of mistakes. I don’t make the mistake, its not my fault. And yet theres part of me that wants to take charge, like in a group, people argue about who does what, I just want to yell ‘shut up, I’ll do it all myself’ I dislike working in groups because it never fails that someone isn’t going to pull their weight, its just the entire basis of groups.

The concept of work is something that drives me insane. What is life really other than a period of time we get to exist, and we trade portions of it to someone else, for things to keep us existing.

Now for just a random whine. Deviant art’s gone completely to hell, no? There’s an option now to disallow critique. What’s the point of posting your art on the web if you’re not trying to improve, if all you want is praise because you believe yourself perfect. I take offense to the pure idea of this.

In response to of school and educators, if not teachers, perhaps instructors.

As for questions of you, I have no idea. This is another one of my weaknesses. An x-girlfriend who shall remain nameless during the processes of dumping me informed me that I knew nothing about her, which was true, she asked me what her favorite color was, I had no idea but I wondered at the time why that was even relevant.

What do I want of this open letter writing experience? More than anything just a place to vent I suppose. I don’t get to talk to people much. I don’t get to converse. I go to school and the only people I really have any kind of conversations with are the instructors and that’s only ocasionaly. Then I come home where my mothers idea of a conversation is her whining on and on, everything having to do with the context of her. Having a conversation with my dad is little better because hes stubborn as a mule, if he has an opinion on something he sticks to it, you argue otherwise and he basicly just says no, this is how it is, which can be very frustrating. Then I get on AIM to have a conversation, and It ends up usually as an argument with Borne or just a lame ‘Sup? Not Much’ conversation, or lack thereof as it were.

Well this was completely randomly tossed together at 4am this morning. I’m not sure who knows this, I know Borne does, but I have a lazy eye and when I get tired it becomes increasingly hard to control. My eyes right now are looking in two completely different directions and neither in focus. On the love at the end of my previous letter, it was more along the lines of uncertainty as to the spelling of something more extravagant such as ‘Sincerely’ but it was not overly uncomfortable to use.

Of School and educators: I was once told that collages are a wealth of knowledge for one reason and one reason only. The freshmen come in with some knowledge and the seniors don’t leave with any. I believe the proper response to that is to laugh and cringe at once. You are right in not calling them professors. I like that it shows respect for the language. But you are wrong to call them teachers. They do not teach. They educate. Teachers are respectable beings they will take you hand and pull you along. An educator will throw you to the wolves. This subject causes me much stress probably more then anything else. I’ve been going through and reregistering and I get something akin to your “lunch line fear.” I see years of my life bridging off of a single instant. . . Almost paralyzing.
Of fear and the golden rule: Fear makes us do funny things. Fear makes us not do things. I have found that a good chunk of my life was a product of trying not to push my self upon people. My guess is that you share a some what similar philosophy. Early in life this really affected me. This is why I ware earthy tones and clothes that lack any sort of markings. I also make almost no sound when I walk. I thought that the sound of footfall was even pushing myself on people in some twisted way or another. I became am observer. But remove your self and think. This isolation is obviously self destructive but more then that it is illogical. People want to have things thrust upon them. The people who isolate them selves more then the rest. I’ve been trying to put myself out there more often. Though I tend to latch on to people harder then they can bear evidently.
Of the new language and warm bodies: When to people really get to know each other an odd thing happens. The definitions of words are refined. Things only mean one thing. Confusion is more or less eliminated. This speed of understanding is truly comforting. A new language develops only perceivable by the people that created it. I find that some terms do need to be added. The first was the concept of “warm bodies.” People only exist once you get to know them the rest of these things are just warm bodies. Which is not to say they aren’t comforting. They just aren’t people.
Of questions and continuation: What do you want of this? I’m not sure I have an answer to that anymore for most people. I only know that people are more comforting then the warm bodies I have to deal with day in and day out. I hope this back and forth continues. I hope it branches out. Feel more then encouraged to ask any question of me. People never ask enough important questions. What did you mean by “Love: Jesse Donat”? Just a letter ending maybe? Love is a powerful word but I use it more often these days. . .