Almost there, yes, now I’ve seen it. The Spider Tree, the old which tree, witch tree, rising straight into the sky, an expression of rage at the earth. No, you can’t escape the earth, there is no escaping.

My blade, straight, sharp, like the horizon, like the hatred of the cruelest heartbreak, but this is a heart unbroken, never. Never broken, never used, unbroken, buried like a talent, like unimaginable wealth.

All the way in, like a locket, but not locked, not a treasure easily open. Prayer beads that smell like gasoline. What is wrong with me? Cutting into the tree, it’s wrong to take a life but no life is taken here, not in the land of ash and cold and frost, there is no life here, only ash, only hatred, only cold and hatred. Only . . . my heart’s desire.

Alabaster wings of a dove, they fly overhead to spy my treachery. It’s too soon, they say, no life in winter, don’t kill the life that’s hidden here. They don’t know, they don’t know me, they only know the sky, I didn’t come from the sky. I came from the void.

Gutting, cutting, cutting, scraping, hating, loving, I am the sculptor, I am the hunter, I am the lover of life. I am the creator of things, the light in the darkness, I am nothing, I came from the water, hate is just another form of love. Grace, generous, gone like the heat from the world.

Hue of silence, hem of life, heat of desire insatiable. Getting closer now, closer to home, closer to light, closer to the end of the cold . . .

Mesmerized, let me hold you, let me feel the heat and warmth, beating like a drum, beating like creation, beating like destruction, let me hold you just this once . . .

Wind, sickness, guilt. Silence, nothingness, emptiness, frozen in time, frozen forever. I can feel it no longer, why did I come? No life in winter, no life in winter, gray roses, gray skies, this is the land of ash and cold.

Hi Todd,

Many apologies for my late response; I was experiencing a heightened sense of disconnection from reality for no particular reason and felt responding at such a time would be unwise.

It’s very late, and sometimes at this hour I’m vulnerable to a kind of dangerous introspection. I will try very hard not to let this email unravel into something that makes no sense. I realize that, as an instructor, you are perhaps at times overburdened with pitifully crude attempts at philosophical reasoning, but I suppose my insistence in carrying on this way is just another testament to my selfish nature.

I’ve come to the conclusion that there is no way to prove whether or not there is a God. I have even tried to use this given as a instrument to decipher the truth but it fails (and ultimately brings me back to the same conclusion). All one is left with is a choice whether or not one wants to believe, furthering my suspicion that there is no real truth.

Matt always used to say I had a lot on common with Kerouac, whatever that means. Riding a motorcycle isn’t that big of a deal. The machismo associated with it is merely a modern technological adaptation of an ancient flaw in humanity. Putting tattoos on my body holds no real appeal to me; I prefer very much to be as natural as possible because separation from nature leads me to feel lost. I am thinking about writing a book, though. Not really about me, because I am only one person, but about love which encompasses everything.

I’m disgusted by the fact that Marina has no real library, but I suppose I’ll manage. Hopefully I will have left the country inside of two years anyway. My plan is to travel the world in search of truth, ultimately discover that I have to find it in myself, write a few books and then pass away.

-julie