Email to Brittney

Ha! Yes! Love it! And!

First things first: had to refresh my mindcogs about the Hendrix quote and realised I'd got it totally wrong/right and actually meant to say "I choose the latter" - which is perhaps a little different. But, yes, both - of course. Who would have it any other way? Or, rather, who could?

Although I don't seem to need love to feel confused! lol!

Now then, now then, I reckons it will be too hard to address all your issues which I read was it only yesterday? so I'll quickly scroll up and down - there; took about fourteen seconds - and reacquaint myself with what comes to mine eyes and in there I see stuff about Derren Brown and New Ageism and me and a castle and you and a two string guitar and to that I say, Yes! Play on! And - you beast! How could you break two strings at once? I didn't even know that was humanly possible - although...even though I haven't broken a string in well over a decade I remember breaking them all the time as a teenager, which can only lead to the scientifically-proved conclusion that you and my fourteen-year-old self are actually the exact same person and, you know, it sounds kind of crazy, of course, but when I look back and think about those days and also those days before that (aged seven, running round crazy with a spiderman mask on trying to get kisses off of girls already in double digits) I think I always suspected something like this might happen; yes, of course I am a crazy typer and words can just muffle their way out of my tipsy-toes and onto your bacon slabs of ears but, please don't go saying things about "my fine mystery" because it will only make me want to gaze at you for several hundred hours at a consecutive stretch and then where will we be? I mean, who will make the tea? I mean, is there even a kettle that big available?

So I was thinking about how I've never been on a date with anyone and then my friends showed me a picture of a pretty girl and I said, oh, she's pretty, and they said, you should email her and ask her out. And then I was like, no, no, I could never do that - and then I was like, but if I did I'd probably say all manner of stupid things and spill all the beans about how it probably wasn't such a good idea because she'd only realise one day that I'm not as cool as I initially appear and somewhere down the line we'll end up arguing and winding each other up and so probably best not to get anything started anyways - which is perhaps not the best way to invite someone to dinner, though I'm not sure I wanted to anyway. Also, none of that ever happened - it's just a thought and an idea that I've had and maybe one day it could be a song or a short story although I'm sure there's something similar to it in the movie Trainspotting when the young Scottish girl first meets Ewan McGregor (and now that I type that I'm probably like, oh yeah, I didn't even think it up, I just nicked it by subconscious accident).

Anyways, there wasn't much reason to say all that except that when someone says, "write me nonsense" I feel almost inexplicably bound to express every little thing that appears in my brain . Like:

"You know, it's probably good in the long run that you got that kidney infection down in Baja 'cos if you'd come by the hot springs I would've only put a move on you - freed from the shackles of Craig - and, to be frank, my moves really aren't that good. Although they sort of are."

- that sort of thing.

Oops. As usual, like Michael Stipe, I've said too much: truth is, I suppose, I'm feeling a need to talk to someone, having realised that I'm already not happy in my new castle environs in Kent and wondering what the hell I'm doing here and even thinking of quickly escaping back to Guatemala and Israel and isn't it all rather strange, this inability to be in one place, I really do worry about where my life is heading sometimes.

Oops again! Too much truth - probably I should get back to nonsense:

Like screaming babies. Like things I'm not interested in. Like the impossibility of feeling always wonderful every moment of the day.

Sorry. That wasn't nonsense.

Listen: did you ever look over an octopus's shoulder while he was doodling in a phonebook and suddenly get the feeling that the octopus was actually you and the ink he was doodling with contained the entirety of creation multiplied an infinite times over in every little drop?

Or have you ever wondered why it's illegal for a squirrel and a badger to marry in almost every country in the world, Stockholm excepted?

Or what about the time you caught yourself sliding down the back of an armchair and had to construct a blue and green flag from granny's leftover tissues in order to bring attention to yourself, even though an entire television studio audience were sitting right by you in Martin T. Grangeworth's second favourite teapot?

Well, those are the sort of things that concern me.

Although now I'm wondering whether typing drivel is really the best thing for me.

I'm not happy! I don't like England! It's too cold! I don't know what to do with my life! lol

All the above, of course, is a joke.

Best wishes, and a jolly warm handshake, with fondest regards, and wishing you all the best in your future endeavours,

Rory