Monday, June 09, 2008

dear yogi

it is funner when you don't know anybody and find someone at a close call of almost being alone. when i am next to you i dream about witches eating us or scratching my leg and telling me to be afraid of anyone outside Parisian decent.

minutes pass
i am getting quiet after repeating the word arrriba with a terrible side of rolling errres. its weird when i don't say a word, and its even weirder when you get stopped on the street. famously assaulted like a man who dresses too hot for the weather. always, i am mad when you take all the attention. always i am mad.

i am mad when you don't write me letters. if you don't write me when you're gone i will feel replaced. whenever i am replaced i feel tender. like a tenderloin grilling by some smashed potatos. transfer me to a letter and i will be the letter P.

i hate the belly aches you give me. stop feeding me chips and steakhouse almonds. give me mango. give me mango all the time. i love mangos in the same way that i love you.

lately my legs have been growing. they grow when i am sleeping and listening to things that make me move like an arrow. i am so long. you'll have to travel my distance. from boston to sanfrancisco to L.A. to spain and back to america.

see me for directions.

love

caca

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