Subject: "and the moral of this is, fuck being an adult. you're seventeen, so be seventeen."
Date: Mon, 20 Mar 2000 21:36:05 -0500
From: m
To: d
i don't answer questions the way people expect because i did that once and i was right and he was wrong: it wasn't as wonderful as he imagined it might be, my life i mean, and he quickly got bored. i told him so, too. he kept saying no, no, it wasn't about that, but i know better. i have lots of sore spots. that's why having people to talk to is almost out of the question. put me in group functions and i evaporate.
besides, and i tell you this honestly, this is my dysfunctional tongue at work here. i am not trying to be anything--elusive or mysterious or incoherent or whatever else. one theory as to why i can't speak english is, it wasn't my first language. i don't know. a transition, here. i really don't know why. and it's a problem, believe me i know that i've already begun to suffer for it, but i'm not able yet to "fix" it. i tried very hard, because i wanted to communicate with certain persons, but i failed.
...
i just like to know how you are. you could be a housewife and i'd still be fascinated. silly me.
could you say more, perhaps?
and i sleep more than i should, and this afternoon i woke to my mother shoving the newspaper in my face. she wanted to show me the photos of the new polar bear infants at the seneca park zoo. the word "giggle box" comes to mind.
i can't help but think, now you are old enough to have a past and a history.
the only thing i owe you is the ability to erase me from your memory, i mean make it so we'd never written. it would be more convenient for you especially, but i don't say i regret it
and try to excuse any melodramatic pauses, i'm still an infant remember
m
"one day, you will say this...in a way that breaks my heart. it is written on the walls of the temple, most of which you built."
Date: Mon, 20 Mar 2000 21:36:05 -0500
From: m
To: d
i don't answer questions the way people expect because i did that once and i was right and he was wrong: it wasn't as wonderful as he imagined it might be, my life i mean, and he quickly got bored. i told him so, too. he kept saying no, no, it wasn't about that, but i know better. i have lots of sore spots. that's why having people to talk to is almost out of the question. put me in group functions and i evaporate.
besides, and i tell you this honestly, this is my dysfunctional tongue at work here. i am not trying to be anything--elusive or mysterious or incoherent or whatever else. one theory as to why i can't speak english is, it wasn't my first language. i don't know. a transition, here. i really don't know why. and it's a problem, believe me i know that i've already begun to suffer for it, but i'm not able yet to "fix" it. i tried very hard, because i wanted to communicate with certain persons, but i failed.
...
i just like to know how you are. you could be a housewife and i'd still be fascinated. silly me.
could you say more, perhaps?
and i sleep more than i should, and this afternoon i woke to my mother shoving the newspaper in my face. she wanted to show me the photos of the new polar bear infants at the seneca park zoo. the word "giggle box" comes to mind.
i can't help but think, now you are old enough to have a past and a history.
the only thing i owe you is the ability to erase me from your memory, i mean make it so we'd never written. it would be more convenient for you especially, but i don't say i regret it
and try to excuse any melodramatic pauses, i'm still an infant remember
m
"one day, you will say this...in a way that breaks my heart. it is written on the walls of the temple, most of which you built."