The Fox Trapper – Letter 2

Wilbur,

I hope that you know how my heart longs for your presence. I must admit that when you had first left I felt as if I could not go on without you. “How,” I would ask myself, “do you continue without Wilbur? How is it that one can know of Wilbur’s arms, strong and, dare I say, seductive, and yet continue to be parted from both Wilbur and said arms?” It was a challenge I thought would never be capable of completion.

While I am overjoyed to hear from you, I am saddened that your expedition is not going so well. It is a shame that those men you are with have been mocking such a beautiful soul as yours! And why? Simply because you prefer Peas to Patties? Mint to Mutton? Taffy to Tenderloin? This is absurd. When will the world learn that those who eat meat can live side-by-side with those who do not? As a strict vegetarian, I know you had hoped “fox trapping” would involve capturing foxes and rehabilitating them to be functioning domesticated animals. I am full of sorrow that, instead, your journey involves murder.

As for myself, I’ve made some new friends back here in Windsor, all of which are human–although please wish your pet mouse Claudio a fond hello back. I am sure you will have foreseen my displeasure over your choice of name. People in Windsor still talk about your unhealthy obsession with my brother Claudio.

In regards to my new acquaintances, their names are Adeline, Beatrice and Melba. We have started a Knitting Faction which meets every Tuesday at Adeline’s estate. Unlike you and I, these ladies are quite well off. The tea is exquisite, and the laughter, raucous. We often discuss our suitors’ follies; and while you know, Wilbur, that I think of you in the best light a woman could think of a man she loves, I must admit that I shared the Plum Pudding story with them. Beatrice laughed so hard that I believe Adeline may need new upholstery on her Rococo styled love seat.

I know you love my artwork, so I have sent, along with this letter, a drawing of you strangling a fox with your bare hands, and your men groveling by your feet. I hope this will brighten your spirits as well as empower your soul.

By showing this drawing to the men you are with, perhaps you can regain your sense of manliness while not having to hurt any real-life foxes.

As per your instructions, I am still polishing your harp daily. I must admit this task has been made easier when I dip into our secret supply of wine and scotch. I started to dip into the liquor reserves to ease the pain of missing you, and found out that inebriation is quite pleasurable!

When I am under the influence, I try to imagine new ways for us to have greater monetary gain so that we may wed and live in a nice home–the kind “the girls” have. Perhaps I will submit my artwork to the local newspapers and become a cartoonist! I am not sure how good this idea will seem in the morning, when I am of clear mental faculties.

Since the room is beginning to spin, I will end my letter. Please think positively. I know you will make it through the Winter, come back to my white, eggy skin, father a family, and be the best damned harpist the Scottish Symphony Orchestra has ever seen! Excuse the harsh language. I have a case of the giggles.

With warm regards, and all of my love,

Eliza

Peter and Andrew – 9th Letter

Peter,

I hope this letter finds you better than last I had heard from you. I do apologize for waiting 2 weeks to write you back, but as you will tell after reading this letter, I have been quite busy. I also apologize for “destroying the one thing about [your] life that made [you] really happy.” But, come on, man: Cheryl kneed you in the balls. You don’t need a woman like that. You need a woman who will be accepting of you and your friends, regardless of how many lewd statuettes this friend creates with her face on them, no matter how often this friend needs money, no matter how often this friend gets arrested at a Coffee Shop in Salt Lake City for bringing a dead guinea pig into the establishment and gets forcefully ejected while he accidentally (it slipped out) screams “BLACK POWER!” Yes…that is the kind of woman you need. And she’s out there, man! Let me tell you, dreams can come true…

That was a perfect segue for me to start talking about myself. Peter, I know you will be glad to find out that I am in California now, and I truly do love the air, the weather, and the respect artists like me receive. Let me tell you the tale of how I made it to, what we Californians like to call, “The Western-Most State Where Life’s a Piece of Cake” (TWMSWLaPoC for short. It’s catching on with my roommates)

Last I wrote to you I told you that I was “in hiding.” This really meant that I was sleeping around the back side of the Post Office, waiting for what I assumed to be a package of money from my parents which they intended on having me use to fly back home to New York.

Well, it wasn’t long before the police found me thanks to loitering charges being brought up against me. Apparently, the police nicely told me that my parents weren’t going to send me a package, but rather that it would be arranged for them to be billed for my flight. I was escorted to the airport by an officer, and I must admit that for a minute I thought I would be going home. But luckily for me (and for POETRY), a crisis occurred a few miles away from the airport which demanded the officer’s attention. Seeing as though I was set up in the system to have my parents billed, the officer brought me to the cashier and told me to explain to them the story (which he said they would already be aware of), as he rushed out the door.

It was then I came up with the idea of saying I lived in California, which apparently WORKED somehow. Then, oh then, my good friend Peter, I boarded a plane headed towards TWMSWLaPoC!

I landed in the San Francisco International Airport. The flight was pleasant. I flew a non-stop coach flight which lasted one hour. While in the air, I wrote this poem:

airborne/
not.for.the.cough.cough/
but.the.birds.do.fly/
without.wings.in.the.summer/
it.is.desire/
the.desire.of.man/
pretzels.anyone/

I meandered about on foot until I found a coffee shop. Upon going in, I met Gabriel, ThOmas (rhymes with “dough mAHs”), and 2j90 (I found out while she was drunk that her birth name was Francine). These three artists were living in an apartment a little bit away, and after a bit of chatting they QUICKLY accepted me! Not only am I now living with them, but my poetry is being more appreciated than ever.

Gabriel works in film. He does “Lens-Cap Art.” As far as I can tell from the 8 hour movie marathon he made us all watch one night, this means that he creates independent films while leaving the lens-cap on his camera.

ThOmas works in the post office as a “Post Artisan.” He puts a small “o” in the corner of every piece of mail he receives in to send out. He has claimed to be one of the widest regarded artists in the country today, since the San Francisco Post Office mails letters all over the USA. As far as I can tell, his art is pointless.

2j90 specializes in “Night Terror Art.” She leaves a camera on every night and records her night terrors. She hopes to one day have an exhibit displaying her terrors on various nights. As far as I can tell from the 8 hour movie marathon she made us all watch, the only difference between one night to the next is her pajamas. Other than that, she always screams for nearly an hour, during which the only words I can ever make out are “THE LUDICROUS LIFESTYLE! HARK! HARK! HARK! HARK!”

They often call me Classic Andy, since I have such a classic approach to the arts. They regard my poetry as fantastic. 2j90 even said that if she were not asexual, she would highly consider me a love interest due to how well I keep in touch with my emotions through my art.

They do expect me to pay rent, however. I know in your letter you said that you would not be sending me any more money “for obvious reasons,” but if there is any money in the donation tin, or if Ted Kooser has responded to my letter with any cash offerings, please send that, with your reply, over to the return address on this envelope. In the meantime, I am going to shop around my poetry to all nearby publications and hope to make a profit off that. Plus, there’s a help wanted sign in a video store nearby that I may inquire about.

As long as I ruined your life and you have no reason to be in New York, you may want to consider quitting that awful job of yours, changing your name to something more “artistic,” showcasing some hidden talent of yours, and moving in with Gabriel, ThOmas, 2j90 and I. We have been calling ourselves “The only living 4,” but I suppose we can change that to a 5 if you decide to come! I’ll gladly share half of my couch with you for sleeping arrangements. Also, 2j90 has some non-asexual friends that you may be able to showcase your newly-acquired sense of wine tasting to!

Hope to hear from you soon. Thanks for not wanting me to die. I also hope you are both alive and well.

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

andrew