Marvelous to enumerate! True 13 2, of whom M.B. I was but the initial RESET No honeybear she, but as splendidly venomous a blank as ever stung twice! The question, Ma, is whether you sent her to be our queen as well as the number of our enemies, please advise, it’s that time of year, she’ll wake up any day now. Sprung in fact from the marshes whence all life RESET From a swampy mons veneris called Golden Hill, never mind, not far from dear Backwater, she was early mismated with A.M. and thirsts for retribution as in our error once did we: Marsha Blank!
She repeated her name and wish, this time as a proposition: if we would help her do a number on her ex, she’d help us do a number on Bea. We did not know that slang expression: nothing foreign is human to us. She explained its meaning (to trick, cheat, exploit, or take advantage of, LIL, including sexually), but we could scarcely attend her, such a chain of insights — what we have since termed the
You cannot touch us now, “sir”; we are as far beyond your grasp as was Bellerophon past Chimera’s when he flew on mighty Pegasus to his rendezvous with the Godblank. How had we not seen that if the media are to revolutionize Revolution, to their number must be added a revolutionary medium? What had we been doing with our
You think to make us a character in yet another piece of
Ourself innumerate, like most literati, we have yet to learn our 1 2 3’s; everything must be reviewed, revised in this new light! How we itch to spring, after the Flight, into the Fall Work Period! When, 1st of the
“Yours” truly,
JBB
P.S.: Hum. We conceive, as a parting shot at the exhausted medium you practice, a little classical story-in-letters to be located at the Phi-point of our story-in-numbers:.618 RESET The Greek mythic figure Bellerophon, having killed the Chimera and turned Pegasus out to pasture in his life’s 1st Cycle, wonders at the Phi-point what to do with the remaining.382 of his allotted span. Though he has imitated perfectly the program of mythic heroism, he has not achieved immortality. His days are numbered. Can he, in the final quadrant of the heroic cycle, reset his program and ascend to the company of 1st-magnitude stars? Yonder rises cloud-capped Olympus; yonder grazes lulled Pegasus, who can fly anywhere quicker than LILYVAC adds 2 + 2… Eat your heart out,
P.P.S.: Our last to you. An end to letters! ZZZZZZZ!
Barataria
Bloodsworth Island
July 7, 1969
FROM:
A.M., in early P.M.
TO:
Y.T.
RE:
Your message to me of May 12, 1940
Truly, Yours,
Cancer is the reigning sign; petrifaction the prevailing state. A lull’s laid on like that that descends on novels in their third quarter: everything’s suspended, held, arrested, as if Time had declared time out.
I write you on a steaming, breathless just-past-noon: siesta-time in barren Barataria. Slick calm yonder in Hooper Straits, where when the tide turns I’ll post this in a crabber’s Clorox-bottle buoy. Turkey buzzards hang overhead as if still-photo’d; blue herons stand like lawn ornaments in the shallows where yesterday Bea and I went wading after soft-shell crabs — and netted only hard.
Dorchester County’s shaped like a pelvis: Blackwater and Transquaking rivers are its fallopian tubes; Fishing Bay is its busy womb. Three days ago Bea and I came down through its southmost marshes here to Bloodsworth Island, which hangs under it on the map like a thing discharged.
Now Bea’s gone, after this A.M.‘s little flurry. Our wake-up fuck, one of the few (Too bad, she told me yesterday, your Medusa couldn’t’ve petrified just
