Second Letter

Well, one doe not have much time...not in this world. You think you have all the time in the world, then the world comes after you. You are but a piece of meat. But I would still give you heart - heart to believe in and to love. A straining heart, a yearning heart. But one that understands the dark secret such a heart hides.

Sitting here in silence, listening to the buzz of electricity coursing through the hard drive, you wish to speak in so many tongues of such different things, yet you find your tongue tied, your purpose thwarted. I wonder these days at the mania for creativity as an ideal, a purpose that people wish to give their own lives. Yet creativity can never, nor should it ever, be an end in itself, a goal or a purpose. Creativity is but a means. Such was the invention of wheels, of music, of electricity. Creativity must fill a need - and ultimately that is a social need for we are nothing if not a wii ....

Madness is not an option, it is a reality - and you, you live with that reality every step of the way. Though you would deny it.

Sleep tight, luv.