‘So cupcake man, you want to push your liberty on me, well it’s an unproven tactic’…

It’s true. Sometimes I hit but mostly I miss, and it’s a bitch trying to figure out how or why. Who can guess what will work? Billions spent on focus groups, and it’s the teeny boppers making us or breaking us. So much power, and they can’t even vote. Yet somehow they do.

But that music you hear, it’s buzzing Lou’s hacksaw, the master wielding the blade, little regard for surrounding tissue--he is the maestro waving a guitar pick. I never knew a one-note Charlie like him could have so much success; it’s obvious he’s got talent, but I don’t know where he hides it: the man can’t sing worth hickory sticks.

Me? I used to repeat myself, but I realized it is a very bad habit.

We are far-flung naifs congregating at a database, gathering on the web to exchange the currency of our innards: raw, hilarious, uncompromised--stripped of trappings and become pure light speed. They say you can never defeat the physical urge, but we have a new technology: the warp of desire. And it’s here on display, finally, for our minds only, and only for our minds.

I never know who’s going to show; I have three men inside: the Blade, the Buffoon, and the Baby… You and me? I don’t think we’re much different. But you are 3,000 miles away.

If there’s one thing you need to know, it’s that I haven’t forgotten. I hope to see you soon. Perhaps we could discuss what came over us.