Letter to Gross: We build Bridges

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