The Triplet

28 April 2007
Bajo y Cari,

You may already be aware of this, but you are slipping. There is something happening with in the project that needs a tool, something phallic.

It was only five nights ago if you two remember that a permission was granted, and now after so long. I have returned because a messenger was sent, telling me you two have not been finishing your homework, a blank box the messenger said. My loves, there is no time left for boxes, none for a wandering from goal to goal, none for one or two, I have come to form the triplet.

First I must address you both separately:

Cari,

Your mother has been telling me of your dreams, hands on a bench, close to being deadened by hopeful shelving. She says you have not been wearing well made shoes, and that your bread baker has been at the shop more often than in your bed. I understand the attachment to woodwork, and the baker’s option of coupling. You are weakening, you are dieing if you continue this. She knows better than I, for she shares your head at night, and I merely can make language to it. But I do know this, woman, you will not be able to sing this much forever, there is a limit to your talent, there is a point in which your occasional silence will permeate, and people do not like silent people all that much. It inspires suspicion of pretension, mystery; no one likes a mystery for too long. Oh Cari, I know this is all useless, you will be this shelled forever, this young and attempting thing, you will be convinced of this tool your mother spoke of, but my lovely, no one is coming, and you stupidly, selfishly gave Stein away to a rich white family with no intention of visiting. Perhaps this will all change when your shame truly sets in.

Bajo,

Your shoes are fine, your collective and transmition. Last night when I told you that you were beautiful, I did not merely say that so you would calm down. I said it so you would stop yelling, so you might stop and swallow, stop and shuck your intentions. That man’s beer deserved to be thrown. I have been asking the mountains to collaborate with me on this one, since it does seem so hard for you to get to them, that one there, perhaps the one with the snow still atop. Help me find my way back in, love, for the beaches are far from here, and I know that ultimately I can not bring those sands to you, and the sweater on them, he is too far from here for now. Cari and I have spoken to the possibility of teaching you how to drive, and the prospect is exciting. You plus wheels equals only unimaginably romantic impulsive road trips, a ring around the moon when you reach the Western Coast, a compilation of the triplet sing songey in your attempt to reach a goal while calling it another point of commencement, of initiation.

As a man I will say this and only this when it comes to my hands they do not belong to either of you, though as the permission holds, I allow you both to use them as tools, phallic or otherwise, I will advise them to abide.


Love,

Mano