i wrote a long response to your txt about being young, but i didn’t send it yet. i can’t get it right. but i am determined not to write another thousand words addressed to you and then not to send them, i told you about that email months ago, so i will return to it tomorrow.

it is curious isn’t it : you are young and i am old. i am almost old enough to be your grandfather, not quite but i may well be older than your father. the woman i was with 25 years ago became pregnant and had an abortion. i was more keen on the abortion than she was. you could be that child.

but i don’t care about any of that.

i’m so young … i’m so goddamned young, patti smith sings at the very end of gloria on her first record, horses. she was in utrecht the other day but i didn’t know it and i don’t care even though 40 years ago i was in love with her, as much as you can ever be with someone you don’t know, but then of course i thought/felt/believed that i did know her, or i knew what she allowed me to know of her. i thought/felt/believed she transmitted something of crucial importance to me when i was 19. that i could be free and that i had a kind of duty to be free. an obligation to life itself and she was a real live connection with a tradition from rimbaud and wilhelm reich to jimi hendrix

his father died and left him a little farm in new england.
all the black funeral cars left the scene and the boy was just standing there alone.