the following is a nice correspondance to & from my friend in China, who for security reasons i will simply call TB. This was from back when i was in the ‘dirtier-sober-house’, looking for a glimmering to live on, searching the sky for a dream to live out. Wow, how it all unfolds…..
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i miss you to mang. i been thinking about you alot lately. trying to figure out how to LEAVE THIS TOWN and come find you in china. I was going to move to Spain this summer. But now my crazy friends in Oakland just bought this gigantic fucking warehouse and they want me to come be contractor, build it into a living space/underground spot. That sounds like living the dream to me. You crazy fucker. Where the hell are you right now??? Dude, i REALLY want to get out of this fucking curfew&pisstest ridden halfway house and buy a p[lane ticket to wherever you are. Now that i stopped smoking chiva ive got all this money saved.
its amazing how many years i blew on that shit. At least it felt good!
on to the next chapter anyways…..
do you have a phone i could call you on???
love
rithers
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i guess i can give you our address now that you’re straight. ‘cept we’re leaving this shithole! sucks but we really really really tried to like it here. but it’s not weird enough. maybe taiwan screwed us up for life but hey at least it’s still there. keep it under your hat but we’re gonna leave town surreptitiously. fuck that’s a big word.
anyway, you’d be proud of us. the final straw was the bunk pills we finally scored. they didn’t do anything even though everyone was raving about how awesome they were with heroin and k and maybe some love particles too. bullshit. if the golden triangle can’t produce a good time, the universe is seriously fucked. so we’re gonna make another revolution around the mobius strip and see if it brings us back on the one.
please come visit. our last two apartments had couch beds SPECIFICALLY FOR YOU. lets have an adventure. maybe india this summer? where triangles give way to parallelograms. maybe we can hire some sherpas to carry our shit all the way up the foothills of the himalayas and trip our balls off in front of the dalai lama for a couple months forming a bizarre love rhombus.
what’s your number? we’ve got one but i don’t the number right now. goddamn! fuck tech. send smoke signals (through the future but backwards so when the big crunch happens and time reverses we’ll pre-laugh with post-irony). hmmm… maybe those pills did have something good in ‘em. love you.
(i’d rather be sober in your shoes than high in mine. you aint missing nothing.)
TB
