Love Letter #10

My Love, 


I suppose this is real life--the opposite of euphoria. Saw another concert last night at Transformer Station—the gallery owned by Fred and Laura Bidwell. It blew my mind. Video artist Kasumi worked in collaboration wit this organization called Chamberfest Cleveland that does classical concerts all over town. It was so stimulating it nearly put me into shock. I went back to the text later that was projected on the screen and the words cling to me:

I will not let myself get tired

I will dive into my story

even if that should lascerate

my face


There was a time when I thought you didn’t exist, that you were some mash up of cartoon character, pornographic snippet and Bruce Springsteen circa 1974. But you’re real. At the same time you’re still all these things to me, which must be complicated. I want to see you only as you but there will always be a film of associations hanging between us. Like Bruce says:


the road is dark

and it’s a thin thin line

but I want you to know

I’d walk it for you anytime


I think you would have passed out at this concert. Kasumi's images of clocks, smoke exhaled from perfect movie mouths and rainbow landscapes surfed my retinas. It felt like listening to Run the Jewels after ten cups of coffee and one beer. That’s what classical music should be though, I think. 


That Laurie Anderson Obit to Lou Reed nearly killed me. Thank you for sending. Nobody knows how to love like you. 


I’m mancaving over here—not doing dishes, eating pizza multiple times a week, considering buying a fifth of whiskey and almost went to a strip club last night. All I need a stack of Playboys (for the articles) and somebody to come over once a week to cook me a chicken and remind me of the sweetness of the world. You free?