12 October 2008

Letter 3.62

It's always too late. You can always write. I can always read. And, as if happens, vice versa as well. It wasn't the Bones that didn't want to get connected, but a Bone-crusher interceded in the matter. Sorry it cost you such a bundle to be parted for 6 months from the last third (knees down) of Bones. Just think how much it would cost you to be parted from them for a year? In any case, I never received any shin-bones, ankle-bones, or foot-bones, connected or disconnected. If you can give them another go-round, even by surface mail, I'd be willing to wait patiently (for about 3 months), but if you can't I'll still be willing to wait patiently, though in the end with much less to show for it.

What leads you to believe any Canadian publisher would give a puck about Bones? Something up front? Down back? I'm glad if it's true, and I'm glad if it's not, but some gladness is more equal than others. As for establishing the H/V Foundation[1], it sounds as mysterious to me as the Foundations of Tibetan Mysticism, though presumably it's a foundation established on a different (though equal) footing. But the idea of investing what I don't have fascinates me. If I had it I might be less interested. Doing Business As? When I was a little kid with a new puppy my mother told me (and told me and told me) to train the dog to go outside to do his business as. There was a suitable place to do his business as. And it was okay to spread a lot of newspapers on which he could do his business as. You might consider whether the last third of Bones are enough papers to do business as.

This is Be Kind to Neutron Bombs week (Day? Hour? Minute? Millennium?).

Meanwhile, back at the monastery... I continue to hang on, but prospects remain (as always) uncertain, and though I'm ever being reassured that all really will work out for the best, there seems to be some perverse nugget in my gullet that makes me hack out a doubt or two, particularly when the sky is most blue. Besides, I can never really decide which course would be best for me. Perhaps it will be a misfortune to finally get the visa? ow can I ever know? Even getting it won't tell me, for I'll never know what wonderful, terrible, or totally mediocre things might have happened if the visa hadn't been issued (as it hasn't). And vice versa, as well. Which brings us full circle, and now we can go around the second time. But we always do go around a second time, don't we? Perhaps that's why it's always too late; or perhaps, again vice versa. Anyway, I see I've said nothing at all so far, and so without marring a perfect record, adding only that my own plans, such as they are, aren't -- still not the foggiest what will become of me -- I bid thee an fond one.



[1] A non-prophet organization stillborn for lack of sense -- Hūm.

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