|there's a barber and a mask and a gold thrown pillow|
Too My Dearest Em,By virtue of being me I'm still here and still known only for my more obscure works, the grass that smells, and the softening effects of light varnish. I might not be included in any of the heavier books that you'll open but when you browse the stacks I will be represented. I've been thinking about you while sitting in a nearby tree. I had to play in the rain without you the other day. It's why I'm writing actually. I'm not about the things that I've done. I'm not about the old and the pious plays that men and women can love each other through. Not when I can miss you more.In this group we will affectionately discuss the persecution of such dynamic traditions as teams and their enthusiasts. How they contribute to an ongoing conflict which itself is a necessary component of the new urban economic ideal. How then does this ideal fall short of being actualized? In part it's these symptomatic patterns of null growth that are defined in systems which resemble complex symmetry but ultimately fail to present a large enough data set for any true comparison. How then can the post-contemporary narrative embellish and influence the perceptual experience of this work given this lack of true comparison? First of all, it cannot. But can this circumstance be isolated for deeper critical analysis along another vertices that is identified with either race, class, or gender? Can the overall conflict be isolated and documented in its entirety with these patterns once they've been statistically initiated?