Post Cards

March 06, 2010

Hey Ana

It’s Ali, from high school. Do you remember me?
We ate lunch together behind the theater
and sneaked notes during independent reading.
Anyway, I was going through some stuff while moving
and found the photos I developed
from that time we went kite flying at Farren Road,
and remembered I promised to send them.

Sorry we lost touch. I actually had a dream about you last night
where we were trying to wash this little brown dog together,
but it got loose and ran through your parent’s house knocking stuff over…
I woke up missing you. Hope you get this.

Running out of space,

PS. Write back on postcard.


Of course I remember you! It’s great to hear from you again.
Please excuse the late reply, but I don’t live in SB anymore,
I live in Middlesbrough England now. (Crazy I know!).
So your postcard/photo forwarded here just yesterday.

I love the photo!
I keep staring at it. It kind of makes me sad, in a good way.
I have so much to ask you but I’m running out of space also;
what are you up to now?
Still painting? Why postcards? And not e-mail, phone, etc?

Seems you’re still weird. That’s good.



*Read this somewhere warm.
May I suggest lying in a duffel bag full of dryer fresh clothes?*

England = You’re cool. But why? Torrid love affair go wrong?
Left you stranded, turning out your knickers for quid’s and shillings?

I still paint. I work as a 3D artist for games/animation.
Artsy-fartsy plus nerdyness basically, emphasis on the fartsy.

What’s with the building on your postcard?
Some obvious English monument I should know about?
Are you trying to say I’m an uncouth savage?
How dare you.



Oh yea! I totally forgot to mention.
That building is a concert hall I played.
Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a traumatized prostitute,
I play viola for the Smithton Orchestra now.

Knickers? Shillings? Your British vernacular needs help… hehe.

You work in video games! Awesome for you,
that’s what you always wanted right? Way to go!

No more space = Sad Ana. 🙁 Write back soon.

PS. I love this photo as well!
PPS. I read your card after I got out of a warm shower. Mission complete!


You’re a viola-ist playing concert halls?
Ana = Un-precedented level of coolness.

You’ve inspired me to change my daughter’s name to “Ana”.
…Then my wife would be upset,
because the name “Maya” is important to her
and her fundamentalist half baked hippy belief system.
We would get into an extended argument
and grow ever more bitter and distant…

I’m going to think about you and do a stream of consciousness
word association thingee………. “Ana”:

Roller coaster pie
Systematic abbreviation
Cornish game hen
Bunchy sac
…Results are inconclusive. Possibly I’m hungry?



Wow… Back up mister…
I had trouble decoding your weirdness on the last card…
Are you married!?? With child!?
You said you moved, and I see these cards are coming from LA,
when and why did that happen?
What’s your wife do? How old is Maya?
Do you have any other children?
I remember you as the hopeless virgin,
too involved with his art to care about the dating world…

Please put your deft linguistic trickery on hold and fill me in!

PS. Sorry for the authoritative tone in this card,
but I just burned some popcorn
and writing this letter in a smoky foul smelling apartment has me miffed.

PPS. I am not a bunchy sac!


“PS”, more like “PMS”…
(Crass puns are just the height of comedy wouldn’t you agree?)

Ok, judging by the record number
of exclamation marks on your last card I see you mean business.
I promise to be on my best behavior.

First off, no I’m not married, nor do I have any children.
I’m still just as stupid and clueless about women as ever.

That was a hypothetical hippy wife and child tangent
to illustrate how impressed I was
with you being a professional musician.



Okay my feet are back on solid ground,
I really believed you were a husband and father for a second there.
To be honest I was worried your “wife” would see the post card
and wonder what business you have with a woman in England.

These cards are making me impatient!
I want to know more than a paragraph at a time!

So yea, Los Angeles? What’s up with that?
Do you live with anyone? Do you just work all the time?
Dating? Travel? Free time? Etc.

No space left,

PS. I’ll be in Wales for a few weeks for a performance,
I want a juicy card waiting when I get back!


I emerged from my art college cocoon
and spread wings of geekyness, to fly to LA for work.

I live alone, and spend most of my free time cooking and painting
I go out with friends sometimes,
but nothing comes of it dating wise.

What about you? Besides the Athenian style young boy orgies
im sure you regularly throw; what’s your living situation?
Do you have a Cambodian lover who comes over
in the middle of the night smelling of gin and gun smoke,
ravishing you while screaming war cries?



Cambodian lover? Who told you about Muhenbai?!
Just kidding. No orgies or violent lovers on my end.
I live in a studio at the back of a small side road
in south Middlesbrough and don’t have any flat mates.
I used to, but no one wants to hear me working through
a tough passage in a Bach concerto at two in the morning…
So now I live alone, and can practice to my heart’s content.

I want to see some of your art and writing!
I still have the yearbook,
with all those obscene bird drawings you did in it.
I wonder how different you look from high school?



Your poignant self description
gives me hope that you’re still the lonely girl,
focused, and pensive. With the frighteningly bright eyes,
I couldn’t look into without embarrassment.

Remember all those times we ate lunch together as kids
when I didn’t have the guts to say
the words I rehearsed the night before
until we both left for college
and I pretended to myself it was all for the best?
of course you don’t, but I do

I don’t want to be guilty of that again,
I hope I’m not stepping out of line
but I was thinking about you earlier today and wrote this:

Like an Ocean

Your less like a star
and more like an ocean

only the sky knows to cover your naked surface
tremoring in want for firm press
while below a strained secret
lies as still as innocence

you’re less like a star
and more like an ocean

heavenly clamor is too shrill and high minded
for an ocean of want
forgotten at the end of this world

blurred to sleep
by the quite rhythms
of a lost rain.


Sorry for breaking the post card rule,
but I wanted you to have this.

Make sure you open the package in private.
My number’s on the back,
please call me.



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