I want to show you gratitude, a private exchange of promises.

I will give you something that is no thing, to the extent that I can, to the extent that its possible to do so. I will begin a process of giving to you that has no end and only a hazy beginning. I will give you all of myself - my self - selfishly, to dissolve myself in your starry-eyed aether because I believe it will form and reform my self into a better version of myself, as well as selflessly, with all that I have for all that you are. I am a skeptic but not a cynic; I do believe in something greater than a world of things and I believe there is nothing that I can give you that you cannot make for yourself. I cannot give you a gift without instilling a debt, an obligation of returning it, which takes away from my intention in this giving. I will give you a sacrifice instead. I will sacrifice my being for you, for yours, so that we both might benefit and nothing will be depleted. This gratitude which I offer to you has a purpose which is greater than both of us, which is us and also greater than just our selves added together. It exists through our meeting and being met, a process that is happening in the present repeatedly, again and again echoing through our lives to nutrify and fortify. I hope these words meet you warmly and continue to keep you warm, as you have warmed me and continue to do so. All that I have to give is my insights, my uncompromising honesty, my dignity, and my mysticism. I'll put it all on the table for you, the table that we built together, not as a gift of mere thanks but rather a sacrifice of my inner platitudes in honor of your continued levity. I trust that you will do the right thing with it and keep rising.

___

You are a harbinger of devastating beauty, spicy saccharine attitude, and sizzling sass. I have many things that I want to tell you which cannot be written - as they will weigh too heavy and cold - and can only be spoken through struggle - which is too easily confused for war. I have advice that I want to give you which I hold back for fear of ageism, condescension, and my desire to remain a fool that accumulates wisdom from observing my own mistakes, which means knowing when to repeat them and when to lay them to rest. I can tell you many things about what I have learned but I know the only way I have acquired them is through direct hardships and brutal experience. You must do the same. I encourage you to soften and to keep on softening, to become consciously supple, to keep breaking down the metaphorical walls and illusory impediments that are continually rising up to hold our great human potential at bay. There is a power inside of you which you are only just beginning to realize and I urge you to humble yourself before its vastness, to remember that our greatest strengths come through recognizing the beauty in others more than fighting to make it ourselves. It can be a struggle, but it doesn't have to be. Only so much can be captured on screen, but the beauty of our existence has no limits and will expand to contain all of the love that we put into it. You will not burst and you will not be weighed down, but on the contrary will become more buoyant the more love you fill yourself with, and lavish upon others, and allow yourself to receive from them. It cannot be asked for and cannot be taken, can only be offered and sincerely received. You appear to me a warrior, strong in technique and fierce in vision. I want to tell you that I trust you regardless of what you choose to keep from me, that I respect your distance while encouraging you to shorten it, and for what it's worth I'll be in the world with you waging a similar war, fighting on the same front, squirming in the same struggle to keep moving, making, and proliferating a love which sometimes seems very far from view. Keep moving and don't give up the good fight.

___

I am softened by your generosity and compassion. I have felt like callous pumice, a dry and brittle fossil compared to your supple being, and then I saw you melt even further which reminded me that we could always become more liquid. You have served me in more ways than you know, as a potent reminder of another kind of physics in the world and calculus of the mind, of the importance of slow food and careful words and controlled breathing. If we were colors I would be grayed in comparison to your luster, but being in your presence these past weeks has helped me to remember that all is spectra, chroma has its own dynamism, nuance cannot be calculated, and the mind is a wellspring pouring through fleshy hues. Suddenly typography seems more like meditation than mediation of language, and all these words fall off the page like so many over-thought pixels. I encourage you to keep exploring all the possible moments, to keep expanding the spaces of experience and the potentials of feeling, and to trust in the magnetism of a magnified existence. Performance is a strange beast; sometimes it seems closer to theater than lived existence but always secretly promises a beautiful violence of our daily conventions. You live life powerfully, authentically, and sincerely. You are also a potent performer wielding a mesmerizing magnetism over us. Whereas this power to perform would normally be worrisome to me, in your warm and steady hands I know it will yield cataclysmic shifts in the consciousness of the audience. Remember to remember the fictitious nature of truth and the factious potentials of a life lived vividly, boldly, and without apologies. Thank you for your descriptions of the world, the real and the possible.

___

I don't know what to offer you, or how to locate a part of my being that I can serve up to you, that will serve you. My attempts to give feel like they have perhaps taken away, which makes me wonder if that is in fact what you might benefit from most - depleting a reservoir of uncertainty rather than filling a vacuum with more hot air. I want you to know that your perspective has been challenging for me, in the best possible way, which is to say that you have challenged my very certainty of being, shivered the voice in its asking, percolated a stew which I mistook for being already over simmered. I suspect that you may be unaware of your true project as of now, or at least do not fully grasp its importance for others, but I have glimpsed it with clarity and am testament to its potentials, so what I want to tell you is how crucial it has been for me even if - and perhaps more so because - it is not fully articulated. There are few that are willing to take on the most pertinent questions of the world, few that are able to recognize them let alone make them audible, give them form, call attention to the absurdity of the asking. There are few that can and even fewer that will, but you have proven capable in the burden and proficient in the pondering. The existential absurdity of your project - your art and your life - will forever endear you to me, and if you ever want anyone to join you in the probing you know I am carrying around a head full of blunt instruments at your disposal. Your song is a cacophony but harmony is the opiate of the masses so please keep making your noise and upsetting our temperaments. I would like to be more clear in what you have given me but so much illumination through language and intention would diffuse the dim spaces where it dwells, upset the subtlety of the nuances, wash out the shadows and leave a world without contrast, plus I share in your distaste for the definitive, so let's let the evening dwellers stay dark and keep warming the rocks that are within reach.

___

Commas are the breath and I must remember to keep breathing.

We met each other in strange opposition, in my mind, which is to say that it was discomfortingly familiar to me, a disembodied diatribe which I now can recognize as a profoundly personal dialectic percolating within each of us separately yet manifesting upon a common surface, not my mind or yours but more communal mental furniture, a working surface being worked out, working on itself. I thought I recognized something in you that I was against, some way of living in the world which was over polished with sterilized surfactants, the incessant clicking of so many clocks and calculators which I perceived as originating from some distant satellite to beam out through your being and disrupt the signals from my carefully incubated world, an algebra of antagonisms masquerading as anthropology, but I was wrong. The thing which disturbed me in you was not you at all, has nothing to do with your being, but was completely my own fabrication and condensation of social terrors and mechanical nightmares, of the institutional mine fields and carefully calibrated text mills. You have served me - not so much as a window into the fabricated terrors of civilization but much more importantly as a mirror to my own seeing, to my own ticking calculations, to my own abilities and inabilities in computing the phantasmagoric economies of the world that I thought were so neatly folded into the wardrobes of my past. Forgive the cliché, but you are my mirror. Clichés are useful to the extent that we can recognize them and put them to use, they relieve us of the burden of excessive explanation, blunt disclaimers, and perpetual reevaluations. We should both be so brave as to employ them for our own ends, in service of ourselves and to the world, which we are immersed in. I want to thank you for challenging me and being up for the challenge in return, for striving for change and being active in changing, for being radically open and letting the world rush in even at the threat of total annihilation. Words can only be spread so thin, but I hope you aware of how much your heat helped in the baking of my own loaves. Bread is one of my favorite allegories.

___

I could tell you many things but my fingers can only spread so wide and I'm stuck to the chair which supports me, a burden which you seem free of, an advantage which you have over the world, and which I believe you should recognize if you don't already. From you I am never sure if I should give or take, ask or demand or give over to, not for lack of trust in your nimble fingers picking up and putting down but certainly more for my own naiveté in attempting to honor your touch, excavate your determinism, fortify your desires. What I mean to say is, I would like to do so much for you, or so little if it's what you want, but I am generally unsure of which you would prefer, or if I should apply the preference, and what the difference is. I am jealous of you, for I often wish that I could express more through my meat than my mental muddling, through the toes more than the tongue. I am cursed by the spell of speech and it has been such a pleasure to observe your freedom orbiting through the various dimensions. I would put myself in your service if you only asked, when you ask perhaps, and I hope you keep me in mind when you go searching for supports to stand upon. I respect the distance that you have maintained here, but I'm also still very interested in having a radically honest relationship with you, through conversation and gesture and projects and general lived-in experience that is not so easily qualified, whatever you choose. I like letting you choose - even though you profess to remain a sandbag - and I appreciate the decisions you make, in words and forms and otherwise. I don't think you have yet developed that appreciation for yourself, that trust in your own actions that others are so eager to invest in you, but I know that you will, that it will happen through a reaching out rather than a holding onto, and that when you do you will become an unstoppable force in the universe. You are your own physics. I do not know what to give you, or how, except my openness to your movements and my eagerness in understanding them and a space to let you advance when you feel for it and retreat when that's what you choose, if you choose. I give you my trust, in your decisions or your refusal to make them, and of course everything else I have as well, if you only ask for it.

___

I suspect that any words I might offer you with sincerity will be taken as corny, with cob, or at least a dab of smelted butter, so I figure I might as well salt them up as best as possible. I respect the distance you have kept while being here as much I do the openness you have been exploring and I encourage you to pursue both to their fullest ends, like a well-stewed chili sin carne, sweet and spicy and full of chunks in a bottomless vat of mystery. Disregard these oily food analogies, but don't forget the depths, and the toothaches which make us more aware of the teeth, those calcium deposits protruding out into the shared awareness, our visible bones, our insides displayed without splaying for the world to deal with. I have little advice to give you which you can't find hidden away in the barn, or in the roots, or in the snap and suture of a few more split ends woven into a pasty whip and plastered over the surface you are active in forming, and I believe we both know that they need to be found out for ourselves, for yourself, if they are to make a lasting impression. I know you are seeking them, which means they will certainly be found. Suspension is a powerful force in our bodies and the rest of the universe, a thing that is no thing, which speaks without a voice, and you're already dialoging with it with your own tidlewave of emoticons. Keep the words muted and the tensions flowing. Remember to remember that time doesn't exist outside of our own dim light which is always fading and no vacuumed chamber can keep out the anaerobic bacterias taking their sweet fucking time to munch away the supposedly stainless steels which seal our objects, in bursting silos of the world or musty catacombs of the mind. There are old ships and there are new ships and all will eventually dissolve back into the rust that is a living thing itself. All the photographs are always already full of ghost babies, but with our knives by our sides not stuck in the ribs we can keep rubbing out the minutes until the laughter can rise back up to the surface. If we were in Iowa I would find you a guava to remember the jungle, but since we're in Iceland you will have to settle for some imported avocados which never ripen and a bag full of raisin which are active in their own forgetting of grapeness. I hope we can build a barn full of antiques someday, just so we can burn it down to the ground again and have a good reason for making popcorn: it's about the combustion not the construction. We will meet again under a different sun with various smells of yellow and different kinds of oil on our grits, maybe on a bus, or under a Balinese gong shaped like an octopus, but wherever it is I'm sure it will make for a good song and a couple more bruises that look like Rhode Island, or Iceland, or some kind of space manatee.

___

A man of few words and excessive consonants, shivering

In the vacuum of etheric doubles

Crumbling under a thousand suns

Mumbling over myriad mounds

Of pure white vapors

Made solid

Words

Words

Distilling constellation consciousness

Consternation nations sprawled out along the borders

Demarcating a man with no boundaries, language

With vowels swelling

Over a mountain mind

Eyes with four I's

Seeing

Seas seized in wanton seizures

Reminiscing of memories half formed, dough

Double baked in floral halos, white islands ringing

Across gentle singed parchment

A portrait of a self, you almost

Didn't see

Ocean

There can be no more sentimental poetry

After the great fall of cement corollary

Colloquial syllogisms sewing sinuous

Threads of bare boned lines

Sands without time or names, calling out

Commas to breath

A slow winding

Wind

Your mountain tone is a moan mounting clay

Loam loomed from nimble knees

Cracking in the morning

Cackling mourning of non-deadly sins

Sans morals

Sin carne

More on the shore

Than harbors

I will tell you "no more"

And you might not hear it

Save for the declaration of another

Voice from the waves rolling

Hisses sizzling sycophant shimmers on the glass

Paned by your own hands

Until you can see that

I will tell you no, "more"

For when you might be

Before the time of ontology

A primal stalemate with no other than

Holograms of what once might have been

You will begin in seeing, what

Can only be glimpsed through

Closed eyes turned in

Towards the mitosis cells

Already hatched

Not eggs

Boiled egos

You oh letters here which calls them a name

You have none, but lick

The envelopes sealed rim shut

I say "open it up" for the reading

Of scribbled onomatopoeia

With no animals

To reference

In the world

Full stop

With no commas

Is not a breath, a gasp

In or out is a just clasp

Boxed with no darkness

Make a hole for levity

And get off the ground

Sea, you

In the sun

___

You are not a mountain, or maybe, but definitely have a name, or so you think, but it has been given not anointed, so even this can be put down again. I have much more to tell you but not in this space, it can't hold it, and I can't hold onto it, so we should both let it go to roam over the airs and fall in another sea which we can sail across, when the time comes, when we get there. You know what you're doing, which is not knowing, so do it. I want to tell you that I could lay down on the tracks for you if you would only ask, which you never would, which makes me wonder if that's the reason I'm so eager to offer it up, and there's something there for me, that you've given without knowing, which is part of your charm. I wonder sometimes if you charm yourself so quixotically. Find more words my friend, and other mountains to pitch flags upon without laying claim, and remember to remember that every stone has been moved so you're not to blame, but are made, same as them, always becoming more powerful in the awareness of what you choose not to do as much as what you do. My advice is to condense: be like dew, forming and reforming to mingle with all the plants from tip to tip above and below leavened soils without ever getting dirty, and somehow always remaining water. Sometimes waterfalls go up hill, and eventually even mountains forget, and both will still remain what they are. Act! Keep pushing it out, not for mess but for measure, taking account of all the units compiling their own algorithms. Be active in the writing of your own footnotes, maintain activation in the asking, incessant scribbling, but also up above the book where the world is unfolding blankly, waiting to be written in. You are no rock but a non-thing, involved in your own defining, which is more than any sand or grit can proclaim, on seashore or in deserted forests. Make more canvases, and also consider their weaving, and if they should not also be left alone, and the pencils and pulped paper as well, and see what you can do then. Nimble toes can skip the lighter stones and always we are walking.

___

There is something very specific which I would like to give you, but I'm not exactly sure how, or if I should now. I believe myself to be a rather amoral person, which is to say that I'm not "good" according to the ascribed laws descended from the holy books, and that I am also an unethical person, to the extent that I do not abide by most of the social codes that have been instilled in us by the older generations. However, I am a believer in something greater, something, which I hold to be more important than any of these made up laws of conduct and etiquette, and that is myself, and the people that surround me. We have the power within our grasp to take hold of our existence, to shape it and form it into what we want to be, and in this there is a great power and a great responsibility. This power comes from knowing what to do and when to do, from understanding the circumstances that we find ourselves in, from taking responsibility for our selves in the world. Sometimes it means saying yes! With confidence, even when others do not agree, and sometimes it means saying no! when something doesn't feel right, and to know the difference between what you feel is right and what others tell you the world is made of. What I want to give you is permission, permission to say yes and no even when it results in conflict, or upsets the world around you, or even upsets yourself. Most importantly is no! Not enough people are saying no - in my opinion of course - and we need to remember how to say it, and mean it, and understand when is the right time for declaring it. The reason I am telling you this is because I believe - and know from experience - that the most profound changes in our lives and in the world are only possible through these kinds of discomfort, which is not an easy truth or even the whole truth, but one possible reality among many others of course. I hope that I have been a difficult person in a positive way these past weeks because that means that you have had to confront the reality of these changes, and that's a precious thing to experience. I also hope that you encounter many more difficult people in your travels, and are open to meeting them and being upset by them, and that they can teach you to become an ever-more difficult person also, so that we can all have that much more of a fun and exciting time together. I would have any kind of conversation you asked for, if you would only ask for it, and what I want to tell to you now is to ask for as much as you can from everyone, to take it and try to use it even if it fails, knowing that the more difficult it is the more everyone will benefit from it. Failure has its own importance and instills its own kind of powerful change, so don't fear it. It has been a pleasure to get to know you here and I wish for you a very difficult time in the future! You know what I mean: with lots of love, and lots of growth, and lots of fun and interesting conversations with weird difficult people.

___

I have tried to steer you on a direction while being continually surprised by your own propulsion, my waves being overtaken by the swells you have already set into motion, a tectonic shiver which trembles the earth beneath me as a perpetual trembling of self-awareness. You are a wild one and I trust will become even more wild as time rolls on, at least I hope so, at least you should strive for the wilds, to be wild out there on the wild fields sewing wild seeds migrating with the wild winds without care for inflated words or leaden buoys. As I write this to you I know that there will be words that you don't understand, but I trust that you will find their meaning one way or another, without fear or intimidation, and that kind of fiercely determined pure syrupy curiosity which you have cannot be taught in any school. I'm telling you, to the extent that I can know, that you have a great advantage over the others in this world because you can already see the nuanced shimmers sparkling over the surface that most people spend their entire lives convincing each other don't exist. I'm talking about an intuition of beauty beyond aesthetics, nurturing an intention for righteousness not distilled from an obsolete ethical code, your sparkling eyes percolating up from a sage-like wisdom somehow ancient and so fresh. I know you're worried about a great many things right now, but I want you to know that I don't have any fears for you, except in forgetting what you already know. You must concentrate in remembering! Don't let yourself forget: all of these crevices of secret ideas hidden in the mountains of knowledge, all of the little squeaks and giggles that the piano can make it you tickle it in just the right way, that there is no project worth doing except for the one that feeds your soul, that there is no wealth except for that which fortifies your spirit. I hope that you keep in contact with me so I can follow your unfolding, gain some wisdom from you as you roam this spinning space rock in search of its soft underbelly, can glean a taste of beauty as you consume it so ravenously. There will be many people in the world that will try to temper you, but please try to remember to remember what you already know, that there is no school (!), we are all responsible for our own learning, and you already know so much.

___

I never told you what I thought about your exhibition, perhaps because I didn't feel like it was appropriate to do so, that my words would somehow destroy something that was so delicately arranged and liminally considered, a manifested consciousness prodding through the flimsy membranes of abstract theorizations into a more poetic silt sliding over and through the fingers as soon as it's lifted. Barthes, one of my favorite minds who somehow manages to maintain a sharply honed wit whilst proliferating a powerfully sincere softness, writes about "the neutral" with countless allegories, poetic tangents, historical anecdotes, and mythological incantations. The neutral is certainly not black or white or any other such ridiculous extreme, but is also not merely gray, or something other-than, or not-, or non-. The neutral is that which evades explanation, defies comprehension, moves so smoothly as to appear motionless from the peripherals and ineffably acrobatic when gazed upon directly, perhaps cannot ever be truly seen except through its trace, through the residues which trail behind and the aporia anticipating its arrival. Barthes describes this dynamic of the neutral as a kind of shimmer, a bit like the non-surface of a body of water reflecting the sky and object around it, both of those things and something else, imperceptible except for that which fills it, not a void but an overflowing vessel of potentials defying complete comprehension. Your work strikes me in this way, somehow hard without density, delicate in its razor-edged clarity, an illusion that is always coming-going but certainly not ever there nor here, a movement between blurry definitions of seeing, feeling, and being. To the extent that its appropriate (or at all interesting) to consider an artist's mind through her work, I also have this impression of you as a person, to an extent, the extent of which is difficult to qualify let alone quantify. I want to tell you that I have sincerely enjoyed our conversations over these weeks, even when I have found them difficult to engage with directly as I am used to, or even on the periphery as I am learning to appreciate more and more. Your mind, your work, your methods, and your presence is an enigma to me, not so much a question without answer or object without matter, more of an absence which is always filling and fulfilling, a tangent decidedly worth pursuing, a challenge to all that I thought I knew which is sometimes exhausting and always edifying in its complexities. I have no advice to give you. On the contrary, I look forward to learning much more from you and about you in the future, on and in the shimmer.

___

I know what it is to be lost in the world, and also to be found, also to be active in a process of finding. I think you also know these things now and I trust that you will maintain diligence in pursuing them in the future. You seem to have ingested my questions in a powerful way, to take them in with warmth and to be warmed by them, and I want to reassure you that this is something worth holding on to and allowing yourself to be led by even when the metaphors seem empty and the clichés roll over like storm winds. Awake again, returning to this, here we are and will continue to be, always treading a fine line between the known and unknowable universes of the world combing through the imagination. There are a lot of rocks to turn over but none so sedimentary as the self, a wellspring of unearthing and uprooting only to be dug back in again. There is a poetics to existence, at least a potential inherent within all the experience to reference back to the searcher, and I urge you to remember to remember, to stay in the process of unfolding out before the steps are taken, not to hesitate but to rest assured even though in constant motion that the ground will still be there and there are only ever more steps to be taken after, leading to more unknows and nowheres, sometimes back but never to the beginning. Civilization is a great machine with gears churning incessantly - or so goes the allegory of the mechanism - but our bodies are more supple and our minds more malleable than is sometimes admitted. Peace cannot be found or made, only realized, and you already have everything you need for this task. I trust in your foraging hands and find comfort that you will keep some dirt under the fingernails. Stay dirty, and drop lots of crumbs along the way, not to find your way back but so that others might recognize the path and make their own attempts to follow. Isolation doesn't have to mean loneliness, getting away from the world doesn't have to dissolve the self. All is a process in motion, a tributary flowing into larger streams eating away at some shoreline, somewhere, anywhere, even here. Lay down some crumbs for me and maybe we can meet again someday, somewhere along the path, if you can forgive the cliché.

___

You have some secrets which I will never know and it gives me great relief in realizing this, in not knowing them, in knowing you while also not ever knowing it all completely. There is a powerful force inside of you that I have only begun to glimpse, and perhaps the world also has only seen a faint shimmer of your vast potential. People with a narrow vision of the world like to tell stories about the dangers of curiosity, the terrors of stepping outside of the known, of the violence that awaits those that choose to go their own way, but I think that you can already see for yourself that the potential for great illumination can drown out the shadows of all that absurd fear. Somehow I feel like I still know very little about your unique vision of the universe, but I know enough to trust that you are active in seeing it, in being immersed in it, and it makes me feel so exhilarated to imagine where it will lead you. I wish I could offer you some kind of advice, some small notion that you could carry with you, some tiny object which you could keep in your pocket to reach in and feel every once in awhile as you lose yourself in the fields and find yourself again on the road, but it occurs to me that whatever I could offer you would be just some still lifeless thing that means so very little in comparison to the scintillating tools you have already gathered or crafted. You are a person of profound intuition and wise silence, the things of magic. I trust that your witchcraft will lead you to the sun without melting, and I hope you will remember to remember to trust in those intuitions even when the sun is obscured behind iron mountains, that there will always be more incantations to learn and enchantments to discover, and that you also remember to ruminate some vibrations in my direction so I might learn from your example. I have gained more than you know from being with you and observing you, observing you observe others, and there seems to be a great lesson for all of us in this. You are very generous in your silence and someday I hope to be as quiet and generous as you are.

___

Oh wild fire beacon burning on the mountain, singing through the valleys, dusting the leaves in molten magics as you float over the world, from where did you come from and where are you going? Don't say Norway, say no way. I am jealous of your eyes and your being and want to jump into your body to become that which I cannot imagine save in dreams, or through the eyes of an icecream dripping down the fingers to dance free in luminous beams, milky rouge coursing through the lava fields of a universe most have trouble seeing. Your mind is a poem spilt over porcelain vessels, a cup overflowing with sweet churning and no toothaches, a living saccharine soliloquy for all us other lost souls whom forget to feel as we hurry to speak. You teach without knowing, feel without touching, walk on your soft hands through a crowd of all feet, tickling the fabric of reality with giggles too sincere to imitate. I am also a cup though much more simple and now filled to have met you and overflowing to be knowing you and actively spilling over to mop up more of the coursing motion whirling through your hair and over the furniture that you are always rearranging into new purposes. I would give you everything I had if I thought you could make use of it, and still would if you only ask, knowing that what would be made could only be the unimaginable innovations of a savant on a beautiful rampage, clearing out the devastating weights of the world in a wake of illumination, laughter, and levity. I feel blessed by an invisible magnitude to have met you, indebted to some unknown creative force for your existence, and filled with a new hope in humanity for knowing that you inhabit the world. Cut off my toe and take it with you as a reminder to not get stuck, as perhaps I have, and remember to remember, to value your own twitches and let them lead you to new colors of velvet reverie. Thank you for everything that you have shown me and all of the time that you have evaporated from my leaden pan.

___

You are a man on a rampage and I hope you never stop unleashing your devastating creative fury. I know you think you have a lot to learn, and you do, but the most important lesson is that which you already have, not from this school which is no school but from the self, your self, which is not so easily put into a box even if it has spinning walls. There is a poetics to existence that you are active in licking, with taste buds shimmering, and now that you've acquired a flavor for it I have complete trust that you will spread it thicker and thicker, a sweet sour marmalade of cognizance, a béarnaise extravaganza of possibility and violent beauty. I don't know what I can give you except my trust that you already have everything that you need to figure out what you will do next, my belief that you are no longer lost but active in finding without so much care of being found. You have conviction and are on a mission my friend: to unleash upon the world without shame or regret or holding back, because the world is sick and you have the cure. But remember! Remember to remember than not everyone is so eager to wake up, so don't waste your time on the sleepers just keep focused on the active minds. I'm not saying you have any responsibility for doing this, not for me or for anyone else, except maybe yourself perhaps, but that you have a power welling up from the inner spring to let it rain tears from double rainbow sunsets, to shower down from your private Idaho floating island an excruciating onslaught of terrorizing beauty, uncontainable charm, and profoundly wise foolishness. Take heed of your virtues and don't let anyone tell you to stop, or to temper, or to subdue. Rebel against all of it and tear the world a new asshole because if you don't it's all gonna be a shit storm anyways. Of course I would give you everything I have if you felt like you needed it, but we both know that you are on a trajectory of discovery, of defining those things for yourself, of pulling up some molten ore from the folds of the earth and breathing new life into them, which is something that I cannot give you but only encourage you to seek out. It has been an overwhelming pleasure to know and continue to know you and I look forward to many more adventures in the future.

****