The Future of my Life is in the Past

Dear Jason,

Hey man. I found this randomly one night after watching eddie murphy raw and I figured I would email you. it was a year ago today. have you been working out? (not as much as you should?!?) who cares man! enjoy life. I hope you are still recording music regularly. YOU LOVE IT.

If Grandma isn't still alive, you thought about her and about this. I will see her this next weekend. I have been spending tons of time recently with easterbrooks. If you remember, we were in a transition about schools and deciding. MUSIC OR ENGLISH? That was Jxx Pxxxx question for you last weekend. you will always have that man. that ability.

I'm thinking about you now. you don't have anything less that what you have now. you haven't lost anything so don't get nostalgic.
you still can't spell and you still can't sing. don't act like you can. but you are smart, understanding, kind and caring. You are capable. work hard man. and do what you love.

I can't wait for you to read this. I have the feeling this year has gone by way too fast. treat yourself right.

tell lxxxxxx that I love her.

very truly yours,

Jason

Whistle while you Work

So it's wednesday. What does that mean. Everything is powdered white
and nothing is clean. The desk is covered with bottles of protein. and I'm sick, if you know what I mean. I mean that I am dancing. I kick and spin and twirl and snap.

painting a wall with color, a hall, full of fall color. The winter's ball drops to a countdown of wonderus eyes. The twin sphere drop down along the wire, each of us. watching the light and the bright. The chaos in the morning. The burning. The years of reaction to one falling and then the other. not like our synchronized eyes. these when down in flames. The people and all of there names. washing away into Manhattan's bay.

I'm sorry to say that your reason for bringing this up as nothing more than historical, is both the cause and the solution. It's my reason for re-dressing a broken building. I hate to talk about this more than you do. It changed everyday for me since. Where I went to college, the way I dressed, the way I talked and more importantly the way I felt.

I want to be back in 1999. 14 years old. watching MTV. Knowing that people still enjoyed America.

I don't enjoy america.

Rappel Hotel

When you pick up a stray hair that is on the desk or from your shoulder and you know its not yours, the motion becomes that off removing fishing line from the center of a raw egg or starting a lawnmower on the sub-atomic level. The motion proves precision and delicacy are still bed-fellows. Clearly, this hair that I pulled of the Keyboard before I began typing this was nothing more than a stray Grey that was plucked purposely... a force of gently grace and power to a millimeters surgery. When my eyes caught this shimmering splendor on the charcoal keys, and the hairs where being plucked a second time, I felt like the machine might have adored it's gift of age on me again, as I had it.
"Thank you for returning this to me, so I can discard it again Machine. You are both my friend and a tool. But what a great tool you are. I marvel at your tooldom. You lifeless returner."

Now with this silver hair in my fingers again, its aged-wisdom seeps into my skin and I am momentarily older; smarter. That hair-juice moved from my fingers into my blood and now that blood has been in my brain for a few minutes. That blood made me write this story and the hair. it made me find all this sense in a moment. Just a single little diddie. A little (simm swap) moment. Just like that (snap). like that.

Now that we have had many moments contemplating that one, I'm sure you have noticed that your find refuge in it's reflective solitude. I mean to say that taking a moment and reflecting on it is the lightest and brightest thing we can do. It is what our dreams are made of; a real-time reflection. We have been reviewing and replaying the tape of seconds over a few times, and each time that tape become richer. Why? the color and shade we put into the detail. I didn't tell you how and where I place this hair when I was done holding it. Of course not. We all know how to remove a single strand of hair from any object that should remain hairless. You just throw it aside, like a feather. Clearly, this moment was more important than that. This hair is gray and I am young and I held it, twice. Its powers transcended my spirit and penetrated my mind,p making me write this awful mess. A mess that could be sorted out with a comb. I would much rather have you take it apart with your fingers; every minute strand.