Dear Bob Dylan,

Air should only circulate inside the soul. Or so, tomaz salamun thinks.

Every man, or every temple of man, thinks in terms of fate, I believe. Yet, they operate on their moods. What is incomprehensible to one is nothing short of a compact accumulation of incipient ideas to another. Like saying the word: what. What is what but an existential moment of choice? And so, the battle begins.

Sometimes I think in tangibles. What is available to me, what can become available to me. What can I touch and once I’ve touched it, how can I alter it. Life is a variation of starts and stops. What was is no longer important. What is, well, that depends on a sober mind and a relaxed approach. Neither of which I own.

I once knew how to approach my day. I could wake very early in the morning and from my melancholic room, stand at the window to see the beautiful sun as it rose, the sky as it turned from deep sea to bubble bath with blue water and white foam. Silly, to see the sky as a bathtub I could sink myself into in times of stress. A whole sentence of strange ideas I read over and over in my head.

Lately I prefer night. Its dark, patternless ways. The security it provides by not jangling my nerves. It’s very noiselessness. This is my mood, my basic constitution. I want little noise. I want less chaos. I want people to fall away into the background like black shadowy figures against a pale orange sky.

I think in otherways. I think in terms of my lifelessness rather than my life. This comes from my being an inconsolable spirit. I am neither a poet nor an architect. I am a useless friend, often forgetting to call or write for months, sometimes years. I owe my ascent into isolation to the differences I perceive in the world around me. Moths are isolate creatures aren’t they? I wish I were a moth. To only tell where light was present and then to go toward it.

You will be in San Diego on September 5th. Apart from that and really all the way up to that moment, I will indeed wake each morning to witness the sun, speak correctly when my boss asks me a question, become indispensible to my dearest children, run for cover in preparation for the next day, occur on all kinds of occasions, like Goethe.

all my love.