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Rev, Greetings from Chapel Hill. It's been a while since we spoke so I figured a little note like this was in order. Sorry it's not longer, but I hope to write something longer in a bit. Things here are the same old same old same old you know the rest. Liza and I are still a thing, but I don't know how much longer it's going to go on. We do okay, but she's still got this unholy jones for Eric. It drives me up the fucking wall. You may not have met Eric. I'm not sure. This was the guy who will go down in the annals of asshole history. Throughout their relationship he was constantly stealing from her and fooling around. Liza would always catch him, and always forgive him. The only reason they aren't still together is because he dumped her. That was a year ago and she still misses him. She doesn't talk about it much, but I can tell when she's thinking about him and it hurts. I thought she would've been long since over it by now. Jarrod got busted again, yes for shoplifting. He was grabbing batteries from the Check Mart for his Walkman. He got community service and a fine, but this is his second time and they aren't going to be so easy on him next time. Yeah there's gonna be a next time but when is the question. Tony and Rick are still seeing each other, still deriliously happy and borderline annoying in their affection. That's the way it goes, I guess. I wish Liza and me could be like they are but that doesn't look too likely. Our relationship isn't simple enough. There's too many variables. I don't think the acid's helping; she's tripping a lot these days. We both are, but she does it alone, too. I wonder if it helps her imagine she's with Eric again. I'm probably just paranoid. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I'm imagining all this Eric shit. I should really try and put it out of my head. But I see the guy almost every week at the club and every time I see him and the easy way he was with women it pisses me off. What the hell did she ever see in him? I wish I understood better. Anyway thanks for reading this little vent. It feels kind of good to write about this, for whatever it's worth. Hope all is well in rainy, rainy Seattle. Write if you get the chance. Tim Tim is a friend of mine from college, now pursuing a grad degree in Chapel Hill. Liza I met once, when I visited there a few months ago. She seemed pretty cool to me, but I didn't get to spend any real time talking with her. Tim's kind of messed up, but he's a good guy. I say messed up to mean that he's been in a rut of not-quite-right relationships since he started school. It's gotten to the point that he's acquired a sort of stoicism about it. He analyzes the actions of his partners endlessly, privately. He used to write me long, long letters--16, 20 pages handwritten--where he'd recount entire conversations or dates or whatever and try to make sense of them. He's trying really hard, trying too hard I think. I've told him this and he agrees. Hopefully he and Liza will work this out somehow.
Hey Rev, I had to write you about a weird dream I had 'cuz you were in it. Weird eh? I've had dreams about people I know before, but this one was really weird. It started with me in my apartment, eating pie in front of the television. I kept switching channels between bites so I was never really aware of what I was watching. The pie was really good, or so I seemed to think. I can't recall the taste (can you taste in a dream?). Then you were on the couch, but your hair was still long which makes sense since I haven't seen you since you cut it. You were wearing that long black cardigan sweater you bought in the final months you were in Columbia. I guess that's how I still picture you since you wore it just about every day. As I looked at you I had a second image in my head, like I was looking at the little screen of a camcorder without having my face up against it. Kind of like picture-in-picture television. This second image was moving, it was of what you were seeing when you looked at me from the couch. So I was looking at you looking at me, and also seeing me from your perspective. It was really weird. I watched you watching me seeing me eating apple pie and staring back at myself (since I was seeing through your eyes in the little image). I started wondering if I could make this image be from someone else's viewpoint, like I could I just pick someone and start seeing through their eyes in this little image. I tried it with people I knew, as well as people I didn't know (I remember I tried Pope John Paul because he's been on the news so much lately I guess). It didn't work. It was so strange, seeing myself at the same time I saw you. Weird, huh? Thinking about it now I wonder if it was some metaphor. You know, for when we were "seeing" each other. Like, perhaps it means that while we were seeing each other I was mostly seeing myself, like some ego thing. I dunno. I'm probably worrying about this too much. Anyway that was about it, really. You had a blank expression on your face, not bad or good or happy or sad. Just blank. I remember wondering if maybe you were mad at me, but you didn't look mad so I guess not. I don't suppose you had a dream where you were sitting on the couch watching me while I ate apple pie? Probably not. Well, anyway, I just wanted to tell you about this. Hope it brightened your day! (Ha.) Sarah It seems like I know a lot of people who have really interesting dreams, and I crop up in their dreams on occasion. I write this as if I find it odd because I do find it odd: I never remember my dreams unless I wake up during or just after them, which is pretty rare. Sometimes I will remember that I dreamed something interesting, but I won't be able to recall what it was. I know I could change this...I know it's possible to sort of train yourself to remember your dreams, or even to engage in lucid dreaming and other sorts of head trips. But I've never worked at any of those things, which makes me feel vaguely guilty, like I'm neglecting some duty or at the least missing out on something. I suppose I don't take my mind seriously enough (in this respect) to try and put any work into it; I've got enough to work on elsewhere, perhaps. Lame excuse but it's the best I can do. Sarah is a friend of mine back in Columbia, Missouri, where I lived before I moved to Seattle in '94. We dated for a few weeks, but ended up just being friendly. I like her and occasionally miss her but to be honest it's more a case of out of sight, out of mind.
John, I didn't want to write this letter but it seems as if I had no choice. For the last few weeks I've been writing it and re-writing it in my head, always telling myself that I wouldn't put it on paper, that it was just some kind of therapy for me. But I finally decided to just go ahead and put it down on paper and mail it to you in the hopes that I'd stop thinking about it, and that you'd read it and maybe it would make you think some. You really, really hurt me. I bet you'll never understand the extent to which you really just tore me up and left me for dead. That's the way it feels (felt) to me. When we were sitting in your room that day, the last thing I expected was that you'd break up with me. After six months and some of the happiest days of my life, for you to just end things without ever trying to talk to me about how you felt or trying to work out the problems we had was childish and hurtful. You said you'd been driving yourself crazy trying to be happy and content and not shake things up. If you were having such a hard time, why didn't you talk to me about it? It was like you had some lunatic notion that we had to be happy and cheerful all the time, and that any dissent would be a disaster. Being in a relationship means you deal with the unhappiness, too. The way you dealt with it was to just end it, as if it would retain some sort of purity through surrender instead of going through a messy ordeal. That's crap. That's like seppuku or something, but you get no honor for that one. You took the coward's way out, John, and I don't know if I will ever be able to forgive you for it. Julie Not much to say here, except that she's right. I was childish and immature. I didn't know what a relationship was. It is for things like this that I deserve to be shot in the head and left bleeding on a filthy mattress. On the other hand, I have yet to write Julie back about her letter. I should, I ought to, but I just haven't taken the time or gotten up the nerve or whatever. One more thing to be waxed for.
This issue I thought I'd present a handful of letters from people who don't exist. It occurred to me in reading other peoples' zines that reading letters from friends of the editor provides a sort of voyeuristic thrill, independent of whatever the letters might have to say. So, here are three letters that no one wrote to me. Take it as you will. Previous Issue | Next Issue
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