Peter & Andrew – 1st Letter

Peter,

I told you that I would write you once I made it to California, but I was thrown off the train once someone complained that the bathroom door had been locked for a few hours. In hindsight, taking your generous offer of buying me a train ticket from New York to California would have been much better than hiding in a train bathroom, hoping not to be caught.

They kicked me off at Union Station in Chicago. I then attempted to hitchhike my way to California. After unsuccessfully trying to hitchhike, I ended up walking to a nearby hotel, and spent some of the money I swore not to touch on a room. I write to you from the nice desk across from my bed in this hotel.

So far, it seems you were right about my dream of making it as a poet in California being much harder to achieve than I imagined. But, I refuse to give up hope! On the train, and at the hotel, I attempted to pay with a poem instead of money. Both places rejected my proposal. I think the poem is beautiful, and soon-to-be very valuable once I make it to California and become a well-to-do poet. Some people, however, are not willing to think about their long-term investments. Give it a read:

the.kiss.of.fate/
supplies.me.with.all.the/
chances.the.sky.needs.to.sanitize/
the.highways.as.the.cars.fly.by/
vroom.kaboom.spitoon.platoon/
what.can.we.all.know/
only.that.it.is.us/
that.holds.up.the.stars/

The man on the train did not even give it a read. However, the woman behind the counter of the hotel did read it before she told me that I can only pay with cash or credit. As I handed her my bank card, she asked me about my writing style: specifically my use of periods instead of spaces, and my use of forward slashes at the end of each line.

I attempted to tell her that poetry is an animal that has been tamed for too long by writers writing for the Hallmark masses. I tried to let her know that I am attempting to bring it back to the wild. To bring back the true essence of the beast: the spontaneity, the avant-garde nature, the absurd spinning of its wheels. She smiled, but I could tell I was going over her head. She wasn’t getting it. She wasn’t living at the edge of life the way I am. The way all the great poets were. The way everyone SHOULD be.

I write you this letter in regular format because I know you told me you would not read my letters if they are written in my signature style. I still stand by my theory that if you supported my writing more, it would look better for you in the long run once they print our correspondences in a book. All the great poets had their personal correspondences printed in a book, which is why I know I’ll make it. The hardships now must be endured!

I am going to end this letter so that I may get back to my poetry. I am going to use this time to write as many poems as possible. Perhaps the yelling couple in the room next door will provide me some inspiration.

I must ask: have you gotten any more money in my donation can back at the apartment? If you have, or if you wish to make a generous donation yourself, it would be appreciated if you could please wire me this money. I took a pretty big hit on this room.

Please write me back when you can. I just went downstairs to get some ice, and spoke with the janitor. He told me that he knows someone who works for greyhound, and could get me to Omaha, Nebraska for half price! This is exciting news. So you can address your letter to the Omaha Post Office. But, I know you don’t like to waste postage, and to be honest, I’d rather you donate the 42 cents to me. So you can email me if you’d like. The janitor wasn’t sure, but assumed there were some internet cafés in Omaha. I’ll be sure to check them.

Hope all is well.

through.the.stars.and.the.dead.of.space/

andrew

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1 thought on “Peter & Andrew – 1st Letter”

  1. Andrew:

    Your poetry truly is an unknown directory located somewhere on the C: drive in our hearts.
    Such vim!

    Your file not found,
    Martha V.

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