To the Dear ones,

The Ides of February are upon us again and as usual I feel the need to send you all a lettre. Valentines Day is everyday and no-day. Some kind of token that expresses my thoughts for you. I realize that this is only the fourth lettre you all have received from me in twelve years, but the thoughts, I assure you, have always been there. It is a somewhat rare occasion that I find the ability to write down these ideas with any acceptable eloquence. Even now, as I start this lettre, I do not know if it in fact will meet the minimum requirements that would allow postage to be attached. I pray the muses won't let me down.

Whatever happened to that Valentine I received from Amy Kontas way back before the Shuttle was flying. I still keep the photograph of her that she glued to the inside. I wonder why I kept the photo all this time but have managed to lose the card. It was sweet and simple in that way, which was the way she would talk to me. You know, "that way." Since that day I have never received a Valentine that had quite the same meaning. I must admit that in all the years that I have known the 4 of you, I have forgotten what it means to send a "Valentine." What are they, really? In some way I think I should just jot down some thoughts, and conclude with an apology. For some reason it seems most appropriate...

In thinking about DC Barns I come to believe that he is more elusive than I can describe. He is many things, all of which I have only learned about second hand. He has been described as a satyr, a geek, a learned individual, a genius, a creep, a comic, a romantic, a dancer, a shopper, a persuader and a friend. The more I hear, the more his description becomes fogged; the more he dissipates. And ultimately the less I care about him. There will be some point in the future when I will bump into him at a bus stop or perhaps at the Prince section in the local record store, where he was "just looking." I won't converse, because of the way I am. Later in the day I will learn that that was in fact the man. The moment gone and the chance missed; I will continue on with that familiar feeling. Opportunities passed by mistake. But what could he offer me? Except an insight into one of my dearest friends. The Universe will never end.

New York City is not a place. It is not on the chart. I can't find it on a map at the end of the green line. Shell Beach is near there. But I have no doubt that I will make it, one day, in New York City. New York City... for some reason I doubt I should even call it that. I don't even know anything about Old York; which I feel I should before moving on to the New. But, like many, I have unfinished business. What would happen if I actually finished all that business and any new business that I undertake? Perhaps I would not experience as much as I have or will. Unfinished business, therefore, can never be a symbol of my failures. I won't let it be. If I look back at the finished items on my list, then I can see mostly cared for things. Not that the list is exclusive, but a good indicator. I should ink that list. I will leave it unfinished. In the end, I have no doubt that I will make it there, be it NYC, Boston or Shell Beach. And once there, I will commence germination. But all that will come in time. For now I'll just grow the fat.

John Harding was listening in on our conversation. Once Roland walked away to finish with his scripts, John mentioned that I should not depend on my clothes to be interesting. A fucking Amish, I thought. "No, not quite Amish," he said, "I like my buttons." All I mentioned was that I had been looking for a tie with a skull and cross bones pattern, and wouldn't that be clever and pirate! I think he was partly bemused over my recent adoption of more formal work attire along with my new position as editor for the noon show. I believe that everyone has the idea that I now am wearing a tie in order to brown nose Brian. Fuck 'em. Since when do I get ridiculed for dressing up at work, when its most appropriate? John Harding was also going into blue hair mode. A goddamn anchor too! It seems to me, more and more, that LaVey is right. Everything one does is a manipulation on others. Whether it be conscious or not. And people know it and can recognize it. Whether it be conscious or not. And they react and adjust accordingly. Whether it be conscious or not. It is just a select few who can articulate it, and can articulate it along with their own opinion infesting their words... whether it be conscious or not. So what have I learned? I think I must articulate to myself what I want. Then I must articulate to myself how to get it. Then I must articulate what the consequences will be of my actions. Then I must decide whether or not I care. Is it a reasonable measure, that the less I care about how I affect others, the more free I am? This may sound cruel, but I think it is a good measure. After all, I liked my pib and blue stripe. And I hated myself for giving into William. Worthy or not, I liked it. I! Currently I like my tie. I don't really enjoy all the gibes about it at work. But then again, I care less about those people everyday. Kelly was having a bad time. I said, "Look, here's what you do. Figure out what you want. Then go get it." I hope to God that he gets it. But in case you care, he is having a good time(s).

1. Friends / neighbors / relatives / who have suffered a spouse / child / parent / family member / friend. A simple "I'm sorry," is always seen as a gentle gesture.
2. Customers / clients / employees / colleagues who have experienced a loss.
3. The immediate family of an employee.
4. Those who have sustained misfortunes: loss / bankruptcy / burglary / violent crime / hospitalization or illness.
5. Those who have been involved in natural disasters: flood / hurricane / drought / parents / storms.
6. The recently divorced.
7. Those who are miscarried or stillborn.
8. Those hospitalized because of a terminal accident (see also "Get Well").
9. Someone whose legitimate pet has died.
10. Accompany wreaths, flowers, Mass offerings, contributions to charity.
11. In the absence of one's superior.
12. A spouse or parent on their anniversary, birthday or wedding.

With my deepest regrets. Its how I think of what could happen. I tend to fantasize, Vulnavia can tell you that. And when I do, it happens that I see your faces. No, not in that way. Well maybe sometimes in that way. But when it happens it happens without a thought. Uncontrolled and faint. You know how daydreams can be. Conversations of paranormal altitude and the most fiction applied to my life; things that would never happen. That is why I sometimes regret what won't be. Pure physics prohibits it. Pure decorum condemns thoughts to action. Even these ideas writ down are blushing, even if that is not their intent. "If a man is considered guilty of what goes on in his mind, then give me the electric chair," paraphrased Prince. Snappy memories of broken glass and a gentle touch on the cheek. Dresses that cover those stripped stockings cannot keep my thoughts from them. I like the way the stripe is drawn all the way around your calf, encircling that slightness. My god, it is still February here. This lettre began with the intent of Lupercalia and here it starts weeks late. Ides no more, and I apologize. Anna, please give me a smack. Water is fluid and so flows. Airis fluid and so flows. Words in my head are apparently made of something else. They churn and are typed awkwardly. No amount of planning or re-education can fix them I have found. Prof. Taylor never gave me a gold star. I know why. And by now, so do you. But after twenty six years I have learned to get by. Perhaps I will learn to read. Whenever I ask about erotica of friends they point me to great works like Anias Nin and the Marquis de Sade and Gertrude Stein and Federico Fellini. Yes yes yes, I think. But what is it that YOU have in your vocabulary. What is it that you can say to me? Show me? Tell me? What those stockings have always said to me is that there is more to hear. I want to listen now. What is truly erotic is giving expressed in the words of greediness. What turns me on is you being turned on. What can I say that Christopher Tracy has not already? These conversations take place in some lobe.

1. "I'm sorry." In some simple, direct way, express your sorrow about the other person's loss or trouble.
2. Mention by name the person and the specific sad event that occurred.
3. Relate an anecdote about the person, a happy memory, some advice they gave you, the virtues, achievements, or successes for which they'll be remembered, something they said or did that touched you.
4. Offer condolences in the form of thoughts, prayers, good wishes.
5. If you are writing to one particular member of the family, mention the others that are closing in on you.
6. Offer to help in some concrete way. If you say you will call latter to check on them, note this on your calendar.
7. You might add that you know how burdened the person is at this time and that although you would love to hear from them, they should not feel that your lettre requires a reply.
8. Depending on your relationship with local or religious custom, and family preference, you may want to send along with your note, flowers, donations to charity, a Mass offering, or other type of appropriate memorabilia.
9. Close with an expression or affliction for which you wish consolation.

On that day, I will meet you by the bridge. The clouds grow and flow. Deep grey. I have seen you before and I see that it is in fact you looking at the clouds with head bent down, towards the water. You walk off. To some kind of life where friends are. To some kind of place without fluorescence. But lit. And my imagination tells me why. Your presence is quieting like snow. I have seen you here before. And I have not heard you. I can never tell how loud the snow really is. But it is a sound that is unforgettable. No? Today, however, is warm. In the days before, I have managed to get a bearing on what are the times when I see you. There really is not a pattern that I can think to describe. But you always seem to appear before me. There. And there. And there again. It seems to me to be always at a distance. But even at that rate I have memorized your features. I have sent out my words and thoughts to you in great eloquence, but they were stopped before reaching the surface of my skin. There you are again! Off about two blocks. I change my direction. Could it seem that I am following you? Perhaps I should knock off this stupid behaviour. Even the memory of your hair brings... There you are lost in again. I cannot spot you. You have left. I sit down on a bench. My shoes. What kind of police would you call if I asked to hold your hand? A tall man with broad shoulders and bullet proof vest, angular chin and sharp cuffs. In those futuristic days, everything is muted for the rain which demands that everyone stop to listen to it. Telling me of stories that I learned before on the prairie. On that day I met you by the bridge and soon I held your hand. And when the rain began you stopped as we walked and took your glove off so that you could hold my hand closer. Fantasies and fiction and stupid thought on my behalf. In deciding to halt it, I get up to go... you pass by. I catch your eye and feel your fingertip run across the back of my hand. I am frozen. You walk off.

1. Avoid excessively dramatic and hyperbolic language. Do express what you feel - if you were appalled at the news, say so - but avoid becoming overly sentimental, flowery, effusive, or macabre. A simple "I'm sorry" is effective and comforting.
2. Avoid pious clichés, simplistic explanations of the tragedy, or undue readings of God's activities, intents, or involvement in this sorrow.
3. Do not give advice, and especially do not encourage big changes.
4. Avoid generic offerings of help.

Fours happen in magick. On the fourth is when things happen. Things always seem to happen in fours. Three is a poetic number, I think. But to make things happen, think of the number four. Think of four things. I never understood the whole thing about apples and oranges. Of course you can add them. If you have three apples and one orange, you have four. You also have one, two and three. Don't let me get into the fractions of the number. You can add like things as well as unlike things. Don't forget that. It has been a long time since I have seen all of you. I hope it will not be long until I see you again. I'm sure it will be a great time. In a year, if you like, we can head up to the hills and visit the Lupercal. We can watch the ceremony there. Maybe you will be persuaded by the priests to take part. Pass me a note and I will pass one to you. Be my Valentine.

When they burned the Bishop of Terni, did they know that he would inspire such a day devoted to love? Saint Valentine. Perhaps it is all just a made up excuse for a day. But the day is really a starting point. A place to begin and begin again. I hope when I see you, we can begin again. To the four of you.

Love and other indoor sports... "I'm sorry"

~ DC