Eddie died this year, but here is somethng he sent me June 28, 2008.
The picture above is what I sent back to him.
Nobody speaks to me.
At least I don't get spam.
It's the ideal condition from which to contemplate those things that elude
the dance of language, danger, and desire. Sitting perfectly still, I can
see out beyond the confines of my body, as if I were sitting under a distant
tree, thinking.
When one leaves one's body, the first thing to think about is how a
disembodied soul should behave. Your first thought is "I'm finally free!",
and you try to fly upward, which is when you realize you are still tied down
to the material world, and that flying directly upward would quickly result
in death. So you discover that movement in 3D space is not a good idea, and
you stop to think : "How did I get here?"
All about you, you see souls flying upward to be extinguished by contact
with suns, and you start to think about that old ugly woman who talks to
you, the old woman from the islands, the one who takes care of you, and you
remember what she always says to you:
"My Son, are you drunk again?"
"No ma'am."
"Pull your pants down and let me have a look."
"Yes ma'am.
And your opinions of Beauty shift. The eye that constantly scans the world
for evidence of a cute leg or bottom or tit relaxes - and looks outside
itself. One day you are looking at the world, and in the next instant all
you can see is what your Eye is looking at. The World unfolds beneath you,
and somewhere down there your Eye is taking it all in, but you have lost
direct connection with it.
And your ugly Mother, you ask her to kiss and fuck. When she starts to comb
her hair back down and put on a T-Shirt, you realize with alarm that the
night is over, and you are on your own again. Alone.
