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Dear RandomKoolzip,
It has just struck me. I came in at half past eleven. Since then I have been sitting in an easy chair like a fool. I could do nothing. I hear nothing but Haircut 100. I am like a fool hearing you call me 'a music slob' I offended two men today by leaving them coolly. I wanted to hear Tears for Fears, not the Smiths.
When I am with the Man I leave aside my contemptuous, suspicious nature. I wish I felt my way more boldly to the reverb button. I think I will go to the clinic.
I have been a half-hour writing this thing. Will you write something to me? I hope you will. How am I to sign myself? I won't sign anything at all, because I don't know what to sign myself.
Anyway, like I said yesterday, the George Thoroughgood solo will be prolonged indefinitely. If you could not safely attack the Casio solo part I sent you last monday, how can you possibly do so in the studio, when you can take with you very few more than two thirds of the notes you then had in my sheet music? It would be unreasonable to expect, and I do not expect you can now effect much. Your golden opportunity is gone, and I am distressed immeasurably because of it.
These are my notes from listening to our last session in the studio: ‘I think I'll stay here in shriveling envelopes of larval flesh... One of the nastiest cases ever produced by this department." – that was one of the best lyrics you’ve written yet.
I began with my dyspathies that I may forget them, and have uninterrupted space for loves and sympathies. 1st song and the following rhythm structure contain all the faults of the notations with as few beauties as could be in the compositions of a man who was capable of such faults and such beauties. The faulty despotism in beats amounting in the opening bars to the 4th song, and occasionally, irregular unmodified lines of the inanimate, sometimes as the effect of rigidity and sometimes of exossation like a wet tendon. So likewise the ambiguity of the drapery. Is it a garment or the body incised and scored out? The lumpness (the effect of vinegar on an egg) in the upper one of the two prostrate figures in the 7th song, and the straight line down the waistcoat of pinky goldbeaters' skin in the next short song, with the I don't-know-whatness of the countenance, as if the synth had been formed by the habit of placing the tongue not contemptuously, but stupidly, between the 1st lfo filter and the lower register--these are the only repulsive faults I have noticed. The figure, however, of the 2nd song, abstracted from the expression of the countenance given it by something about the flanger, and the interspace from the drums to the sample, is such as only a master learned in his art could produce.
I wrote this about the 5th song however:
Mainly I felt like a floating Kahn on a magic carpet with my interesting lieutenants and gods... some ancient feeling about old geheuls in the grass, and temples, exactly also like the sensation I got drunk on pulque floating in the Xochimilco gardens on barges laden with flowers and singers... some old Golden Age dream of man, very nice. But that is the element of hallucination in this acid called mushrooms (Amanita?) The bad physical side-effects involved (for me) stiffening of elbow and knee joints, a swelling of the eyelid, shortness of breath or rather anxiety about breathing itself. No heart palpitations like in mescaline, however. I felt that Donlin was asking for too many ‘fives’ all the time (in the trade they’d say he has an oil-burning habit, or is a “hog”)---But under the sympathetic influence of the drug or whatever it is called I kept agreeing with all his demands. In that sense there’s a lot of brainwash implicit in SM’s. So I do think we took too much. Yet there were no evil side effects.
In fact I came home and had the first serious long talk with my mother, for 3 days and 3 nights (not consecutive) but we sat talking about everything yet went about the routine of washing, sleeping, eating, cleaning up the yard and house, and returning to long talk chairs at proper time. That was great. I learned I loved her more than I thought. The mushroom high carried on for exactly till wednesday Jan. 18th (and remember I first chewed the first pills Friday night the 13th). I kept it alive by drinking Christian Brothers port on the rocks. Suddenly on Friday the 20th (day of Inauguration) it started all up again, on port, but very mushroomy, and that was a swinging day, yakking in bars, bookstores, homes around northport (which I never do).
My report is endless, exactly. But here, remember what we were saying? “What? What did you say?” (to have a mumble repeated, the mumble being of excruciating importance.) And “Who are you?” “Are you sure?” “I’m not here.” --- “What are we doing here?”--- “Where are we?”---- “What’s going on?”---”Am I going to die?” --- “No” --- “I can’t see you, you’re a ghost” --- “You’re the Holy Ghost” --- “walking on water wasn’t built in a day” --- “We’re just laying around here doing nothin” --- “Even if I knew how to break your leg (utilizing Zen koan about Baso (T’ang master d. 788)) “even if I knew how to break your leg I wouldn’t do it?--- besides you haven’t got a leg. Who said you had a leg? You? Who are you? I can’t see you? You’re not there! I don’t see nuttin! I hate you! Why? Because I love you!” “I love you anyway.”’'
I hop ethese notes will help.
If it is your wish to forget that I have been your collaborator I am too proud to remind you of it again--I only beg you to remember that you yourself cherished the cause of my leaving our highschool band--Ambition--If it has not taken the channel you wished it, it is not the less certain of its object. Connecticut & the U. States were too narrow a sphere & the world shall be my concert hall... I can walk among infection & be uncontaminated.
You will receive such compensation as the venue may hereafter specify..." Meaning, of course, that if cigarettes are the postshow currency of choice-you will be paid in Pall Malls and have to like it.
You will, in the performance be subject to the direction, control and coordination of myself, In other words, don't think for a moment that just because the stage is destroyed there won't be a supervisor to answer to and a bureaucracy to maintain.
You may be shocked by these words coming from me. But on this tour, what I have seen, and experienced, has forced me to re-arrange much of my thought patterns previously held, and to toss aside some of my previous conclusions. This was not too difficult for me. Despite my firm convictions, I have always been a man who tries to face facts, and to accept the reality of life as new experiences and new knowledge unfolds it. I have always kept an open mind, which is necessary to the flexibility that must go hand in hand with every form of intelligent search for truth.
We hardly ever get to spend any time together. When ever we get a chance to talk, it's always about you and your friends and what you needd. I'm tired of how all you do is talk about yourself. You blame others for your problems, you insessently talk about your old girlfriends and all of the things you used to do with them. It's the RandomKoolzip show over and over again. It's boring.
You need to let go of the past.
I don't want to see you any more and this will be my last letter to you. Please don't call me. I've changed the locks just in case you ever do get out on probation.
Also--tell Satan to leave me alone as well. I know you've had him leave messages on my answering machine. I am moving on with my life and he is affecting the way I handle my relationships with men.
Goodbye,
ChavezspeakstheTruth
P.S.: Please don't send me any more mix tapes.
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