Hi Ems 30-9-2007

What if the cure worsens the pain? You pull out the stitches and then look closely to the wound and what if you find out that its deeper and darker and dirtier than you thought. So much for a cathartic enlightenment as a bonus for digging up the sources of your sorrow. I believe in the survival value of denial and more than that: painting over your bright history with dark colours. 'We never had fun'. 'That was all in illusion'. All the time convincing yourself that the past was a rehearsal for better things to come. Things can only get better. What nonsense. The skeletons i dig up are made of diamants. I see you, that first image that still bewilders me, you in the Art Institute, in that big dormitory almost compeletly abandoned for the summer break, you in these bright yellow red hotpants with blue flowers on it with matching top. Even a night alone in a dorm was occasion enough for you to shine like a diamond. And i just stood there. Watching. Longing. Dreaming. What cure is there in digging this up to overcome my past when i dont want to overcome anything. In wanna be there. Impossible as it might be.

ps: and yeah, rumours are correct. I am seeing someone if seeing is the approriate term here because i only see yellow red and blue.

Hi brother 9-9-2007

As i lay there in the park i tried to remember where things went wrong. There was you acting like you owned the place, the champagne you ordered and spilt on every irrestible bitch that you could spot, the redberrie-wodka's and redberrie wodka's and how you gave me a lecture about my history of female failure, this elaborate theory about the correlation between my money failures and girlfriends leaving me especially Ems that you described as 'my only trophý woman' that vindicated my poor history with that stupid bitch Doris and what i weener i was for still wanting to be a 'sincere good friend' for Ems and that i should really do something and act and here take another wodka little brother and hit on the bar woman and, jesus, i was so drunk, i tried to hit on her and could think of nothing better than to compare her beauty with that of Vanesse Williams the first coloured woman to win the crown of Miss America and how she lost that when nudi pictures of her past hit the playboy pages and how she redeemed herself with that stupid 'sometimes the earth goes around the moon' ballad until things went really wrong because i heard myself reciting a Philip Larkin poem to her about how your parents fuck you up, they do not mean to but the do, they fill you with your faults they have and add some extra just for you and then there was nothing left to do then to leave the club and find this park to lie on the grass and think about where things went wrong.

Hi Alexandra

You not being relevant is not relevant. It's like this new Public Enemy album that is still good but not relevant like their older work was. Not that your work ever was relevant. It just is what it always has been: beautiful and well crafted and, not unimportant, well sought after. But the marketprice never is an indicator. I can see your angriness now when your read this and i know that when i again repeat that David's work is relevant you are on the verge of killing me, or worse: calling me an ignoramus. But in the end: that is not relevant.
Hope to see u soon.
Love, Antonius