Upon who or what or why or when are you standing? Never mind the back porch. If there is someone or something that owns these terms, perhaps they can reimburse you for your travel expenses. Please never mind that I said never mind the back porch, because now I’d like to discuss the back porch. If I may. You have no way to deny my request, as this is a letter, not a face-to-face interaction. This is the nature of letters, so get used to it. Which means, I may. And in fact, I will.
My back porch does not exist. I live in a basement in someone else’s home, and they don’t have any porches, back or otherwise. This is the truth of living. All raw, all the time. You bleed until the blood dries or runs out, and most of the time you don’t know which is preferable. This is what it’s like existing in a basement, especially one that belongs to another. There’s a lot of weight overhead. I don’t possess the equipment to measure it’s deadliness, but I don’t doubt that it will kill me and anyone else underneath in the event of collapse. Telling the truth is hard, and I don’t know how, but I’m willing to try if it gets me out of dank, musty basements. So many spiders and critters and creeps and ugly children belonging to no one! By the way, I initially imagined this letter as an illustrated book for children, even those of the ugly variety. I say “initially” because I wanted to ask you first, before finding a publisher and making more money than anyone ever should. What are your thoughts (please only share thoughts related to picture books, in this instance)?
I apologize for the slight rabbit trail of the children’s book. I want to apologize for seeming to take things lightly, and much as I would like to do so, I cannot. I’m bearing the burden of your vanishing finances and drowning dreams, both of which are extraordinarily heavy. Were I not suffocating underneath their shared gravity, I would wish to take matters as lightly as you seem to think I do. That being said, I must admit that communication has become quite difficult in this stifling and increasingly dangerous environment. Do you like basements? One wonders if staying here with me would eliminate a majority of our communication problems? In the event that you are wondering who this “One” is, it’s me. Your drowning dreams are getting especially corpulent at this moment. And now, so are mine. My word choice regarding your dreams has led me to imagine them as a chubby child gorging itself on an endless bounty of fudgey, delicious brownies. Where are the parents?
Dreaming of brownies, and sincerely,