Letter 3.59

The banalities of Bangkok pound my brain like .45 slugs made of cotton. It's over 4 months here now, but how ya gonna keep 'em down on Patpong after they've seen the forests? I'm Thaired of it.

Managed to learn a bit of the lingo in the last few months, what with a classroom situation and a good teacher, and expect, d.v. as they say, to leave next month for the hills of the North -- no idea where yet, or maybe too many ideas -- and be clear of the heavy vibes of Bangkok, where I've managed to do exactly no writing (hardly even answering correspondence, as you already have guessed), although I have learned to endure adverse conditions, in an intense form the jungle seldom offers.

I'd love to see what you're doing with Bones. No hurry -- until I have an address mil will be held here at Wat Bovaranives for me -- and expect to send you what I'm doing eventually, maybe even with Bones. Maybe we can both rewrite it simultaneously and then collate our efforts, you can do odd f pages and I'll do even # pages. What a collaboration! On the other hand, I my pick up Getting Off, in which case a collaboration would produce either Getting Bones or Worthy Off, I can't figure out which. Track of Truth needs some pottering too. I grow geranium alongside the roadway, wave to passerby, snigger at their idea that they're going somewhere, at my own idea that I'm not.

Shit's good fertilizer. Shovel some on my geraniums. We all shovel our shit, of course, but few of us get paid for it, many of us pay for it, and pay and pay. I trust you're not being paid more than you're worth. Is the shit better (or even different), after all, from printer's ink? Or is it that printer's ink is unused shit? Lose a newspaper and find a farm?

Worthy Bones -- love Mohel/Carmen/Jizi, stick with them, let them relate together, quarrel, see things same/different, love, let them be the story and let the bones be the background to their story. Let them seek truth between themselves, and learn the price of their illusions.

love, brother

V.