Dear Elle,

Nothing's worse than being mildly depressed about the state of one's romantic life (or lack thereof), as you have more reason to be than me, but when you combine this with its 1st cousin; being sick, it's a nasty mixed drink where someone put in too much Godiva and not enough chocolate.

Still, physical discomfort has always seemed to trump my mental difficulties (God forbid I have two horrible occasions for both simultaneously), and I think over the past several days, I've been suffering of the bird flu -- a nice combination of a stuffed up/dry/hurty nose and laryngitis. Yuck. I've barely said anything the past two days to try and conserve my voice for when I'm back home, as I expect to be doing enough talking in MD.

I will also have a shiny haircut. And a shiny burned CD of Sufjan Stevens Christmas songs. And quite possibly enough drive and vigor to get plastered over Thanksgiving for both of us.

Can't wait to see you ---



yr hmbl & obt svt,


kev ¶ 12:14 AM |

Dear Elle,


A lot of things that could have worked out better this week. The only real
thing saving it from total disaster was quite a bit of success in my poker
game. Built back up the money I had lost the previous week, in addition to
another $200 profit leaving me with a bankroll of roughly 200, all of it in
pure profit.


I'll have the pleasure of missing my American History class next week in
response of Alexisonfire playing with the Receiving End of Sirens at a
local club.

I submitted some of my poetry to The Forum's writing board -- as you warned
me, they were pretty vicious, but helpful. I actually found another site --
everypoet.org, with easily the most comprehensive/brutal/effective
individuals for tearing apart your work.

It is much more difficult to separate your emotions from your poetry, and
look at it in an objective manner, than I had previously thought. And
trying to some work dissonance and assonance into your pieces are just as
difficult.


Amusing anecdote: I love my friends, but oh, how I also love to read. So
when someone (who shall remain unnamed) mentions how they don't read, or
was joking about reading, I made the comment, which is actually my favorite
quote from Mark Twain: "Those who choose not to read are no better than
those who cannot." I love a good zinger.

Anything else in this letter would be unnecessary, and probably quite
depressing, so I'll leave them out.

However! I'm planning to (God willing) get a chance to speak to you soon
about things -- whether they be content or wistful, in the very near
future.


yr hmbl & obt svt,


kev ¶ 10:36 PM |

Dear Elle,


All quiet on the Western New York front. My deepest apologies I haven't written in almost a week -- no excuses, really, not that you require any. A fellow writer can understand the occasional stagnancy (not a word!) one feels from time to time in regards to actually sitting down and composing something, whether it be a paper or a letter. I BS'd the former, and am using the latter to keep myself from going to bed.

I wish I could spare any sort of negative feelings in this letter, but I'm left without a reasonable surrogate. My 2nd home remains WBNY, but I seem to be the only one on the E-Board (besides our program director) who has any wish for WBNY to actually succceed in getting WORKING equipment, and a reasonable amount of money from United Students Government (USG), which is dominated by the African American Students Org. and the Caribbean Students Org, both of which combined receive over $64,000. WBNY gets roughly $18k, and a 5% cut.

I'm taking the charge alongside our professional engineer Paul Smith for a new Digicart Ethernet Audio Network -- a lot of money, which we currently can't afford. Maybe I can get that 5% back.

It's fun, though. I love doing my show, hanging out at the station -- it's usually the highlight of my afternoons on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. And with any luck, next year I become Music Director. Bwahaha.


I am also completely aware of your birthday on November 3rd, no thanks to Facebook. Expect a complimentary phone call and gift basket, congratulating you on making it this far in life. God knows we'll both die tragically one day, possibly in the same car/van/prison.



My crop of mostly Gen-Ed classes piss me off from time to time, and really test my patience. At the very least, it just begs for me to somehow land a schedule of something CONSISTENT next year, class-wise. Not Dance Appreciation followed up by a course on Logic and American Literature.


Am I content? I can't tell. Even in retrospect, when everything is supposed to start making sense, and you're supposed to find those glasses you lost 2 weeks ago, it is not clear. Am I content, scared, depressed, or hiding my emotions so well --- that even I can't figure out where I put them? I really think it's the last one, just because I keep coming back to it. Not that it's unusual or even a problem at all -- I've been doing it all my life, and people still like me.


I've started talking again, much moreso than the last letter. Mostly bullshit, with enough truth left out for it to be considered deceit, sometimes. I don't plan it to be that way, it just happens. But, as I tell all my friends and loved ones, no matter what crap comes out of me, rest assured, that when I'm literally confronted with one of the two (in the words of Devendra Banhart): I'm a gentle man who says what he means.


Yr hmbl & obt svt,



kev ¶ 1:43 AM |