June 2 2008

02-06-08 I queried why you had expressed your willingness to receive letters from me; and what in the nature of my being might have interest for you, whom I must admit that I barely know, really, to any significant degree—other than, due to commonly shared inherited genetic factors that do contribute some commonly-held sense and sense of sensibilities. Common sense; horse sense: The stuff that just naturally wells up within us in a kind of sympathetic vibration with those natural forces that do make for most of who and what we are and become. What differences might be defined—at least in part—stem from me having mostly felt fatherless as a young'un, where as you had no such traumatic influences in that area of your emotional-conditioning(s). And, of  course, our different sexual-orientations . . . I am most definitely not the least bit gay. I have observed that whole genre of societal abberation evolve from those early days of the psychedelic experience of San Francisco and surroundings to its present day affected state-of-pride, etc. I feel way more sympathetic with the uppity female PUSSY POWER! teeshirts, etc. than I feel with or for the gay population. By no means do I feel support for the redneck and Xtian church's veheminent and endless disparaging tirades against the gays. I am so hetero, not the it matters one whit anymore at this stage/age . . .

   Stae-of-grace is my mantra these days: State-of-grace. This implies to me much that makes my heart warm and my spirit soar. If only I can grow this state's length of endurances . . . being so far away from most vestiges of the larger and far more complex world 'out there,' I am blessed with this state as it surrounds me and envelops me within this mostly quite natural space and ambience which fills my days and nights all except the townrun every fifth or sixth day, when, for as few hours as I can organize and arrange, I have to drive my old sick truck all the darn way—12 miles—to town for more coffee, cream, spinach, lemon, TP, etc.; as well as more gasoline for the trip home and a little extra to tide me over on my short little runs up and down and across hill around here; plus enough to get me back to town six days hence . . .

   So: Who am I/ And what could I possibly be worth or of use to one such as my dear spinster half-sis? Or of interest? What? Hell: What I know, I know, but to try and give it sense to another is a near-difficult thing to accomplish; and why, anyway, should I try? What could possibly be 'in it' for you? for me? Well: You could offer to edit my writing attempts . . . but of course: this is a ridiculous suggestion. Do you know that mom edited 43 pages of one of my earliest manuscripts? And that Jadene edited (with eight typewritten two-sided pages of commentary) about one-third of what I was passing for 'my book' over three years ago now?

   The damn book deal is a pisser. In that I cannot seem to come up with an entry into that old book concept's storyline that makes any (literary) sense to me. There are as many ways to begin a book idea as there are grains of sand, and that's my 'problem:' just trying to decide upon which course-of-action will become the 'way-to-go' with this book-writing thingy attempted effort at near sheer lunacy. Oh yeah: I'm gonna get rich and be a best seller, hee hee. What a dumb fantasy, huh? Which of course, translates to whatta dumb me, eh? Heck, that aint no biggee really, I have been much and done much that could only qualify as dumb, and I admit it—laugh about it now, lots. Every time another stoopid blunder I have just made becomes self-evident to me, I bust out laughing again to myself, and think: God! Whatta stoopid! And I vow once more to try not to be such a stupid in future; but there are just too many of Murphy's Laws for a guy like me to other than laugh them off one by one as they go swimming through my fingers . . . Now, I am one expert when it comes to Murphy's Law type occurrence, and they no longer surprise me quite so much anymore, as they once did when I was younger and quite a bit 'hotter.' I like this being way cooler now. It is so very much easier than when I was 'hot.' I can kick back and ignore just about any and all (attempted) influences from without ny being and just putter around or not as I feel, and not feel way too guilt-ridden for not being a contributer to society and like that, etc. And still: I say (write) that I do not really know who I really am or could be. GRACE state of: 's where I wanna be. It seems to fix just about any old thang.