Of course I can’t send the letter I want to send. What I want to say I cannot say. I know that, even if I wrote a letter a thousand miles long it would not be able express the universe of the human soul—my soul THE LETTERS pages and pages to what end? I cannot say. I am asking myself to what end. It doesn’t amount to anything at all, they are nothing, only paper with my scrawling endless, but it’s the way I that has been the manner by which I make meaning, I suppose writing the letters is how I but even still I even with all the writing I still don’t I had my DNA tested, you would be surprised
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