From: "TRUEBOY *"
To: james@xxxxx.com
Cc:
Subject: Re: smith-corona
Date: Sun, 04 May 2003 10:39:52 +0800
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word jamie,
glad you wrote. just got home: timestamp=a little after three in the
morning. i'm listening to a hip-hop mix tape. i don't want anything
low-key tonight. i'm roasted. totally. and it's about that time.
everything outside has turned quiet and blue.
i'm slowly getting back on my feet after a fucking long ass spring
disease, a diluted (deluded) new-fangled asian/traveller's illness.
whatever, it's wrong to make jokes when people are dying. but people
are always dying.
hells yeah i want the smith-corona. the heavier the better. i'll
have one of my servants come by and pick it up if you need it out.
he's got muscles so feel free to ask
him to help you move something else.
if i was around, i'd help out for sure. someone's got to supervise.
yo biggie just freestyled on my tape,screaming his raps into the mic.
the crowd wastotally enthralled, you can hear it in their scattered
applause. they're deep in his flow--it's like watching the gears
turn inside a handwound watch. his precision cuts you open like a
surgeon's knife.
he never loses the beat, even when the dj drops it out and he's
rapping accapella for a verse.
at the end they go beserk.
so do i
j-
i'm so shy, it kills me.
when i was little i used to imagine having a secret world to disapear
into behind the walls of my house.
a little like the house in webster. now that was the sheeeet.
anyway, there were all these secret hallways and slides and ladders
leading up to special secret rooms.
one for video games
one for eating pizza
one for duran duran concerts.
these were actual rooms, huge and hidden--an entire world i accessed
by one secret tiny passage.
a hole behind a picture on the wall
the space behind the TV
the dark spot in the back of the closet, just like in the lion, the
witch and the wardrobe
anyway, what the hell am i talking about?
time for water
love,
TRUE
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