I have the FEAR, Luke. We spoke of this before but today it has heightened up to fever-pitch. It is worse than before, nobody is watching me. Nobody is touching me at all. Nobody is talking to me in my head, in my dreams or even in my bedroom. Nobody is near me or even tries to see me anymore. I have started to write again as you suggested. Only short pieces but ones I think hold meaning to me. I am writing a blog and want nobody to read it, my precious thoughts all scrambled down on an e-book. Luke, promise me you will never try to find it. Never Google my name and read me wrong; please I beg you Luke, never see what I have written. You will judge me as others do. You will see me as a failure, as a loser, as the reject I have always been. Promise me now, Luke. Promise me you will never read a letter that I type.
Luke, I am learning all about the Internet and trying to use mass media but sadly, I seem to be so fucking misunderstood, so misread and under-heard by the others. Those glorious employed goodie-goodies we sometimes talk about. I feel silenced, alone and so terribly frightened. Luke if you read this by accident let it never been known just how empty I felt as I typed. I have nobody to share my thoughts with. To cuddle on a sofa with. I don't even have a sofa to sit on. One chair is all I need in my humble abode. I have nobody to scream at me and tell me what to do. To run around me with a broom or wet smelly cloth or a vaccum cleaner pushing their weight around, obsuring the television screen as always. Nobody to ask me, “so Honey Bunny how was your day?” The loneliness we learnt about is real. It is not just in the books we read or in those songs we used to listen to: Lonely like a Fox...Lonely and Looking for Love. Are you Going Down Lonely Street and the The Lonely Road is Long. The Classics from our 70's childhood. Luke, loneliness has a face, it has arms and legs. It has teeth and a smile. I’ve seen loneliness Luke. He lives in my basement. I see him in the corner of my eye Luke. I see him first thing every morning, when I wake and have fresh coffee to wake me up and I spit at him, Luke. Every day I spit in his ugly face and then wipe away the mess. I spit at him maybe 3 or 4 times a-day, Luke. I know it’s wrong but I just can’t help myself, Luke. He just irritates me as he goes on and on and on about Africa. Rambling on about the artists from Egypt, then artists from Ghana, then artists from Kenya, Uganda and even thinks he knows a thing or two about South Africa. He sits there laughing his fat tits off. I hate him so and I never want to see him again. As he pushes his head back and begins his insane laughter about Abstract Africa and how he loves to write. Luke, I must let you in on a little secret....I have never seen him pick up a pencil. Or make notes about his pitiful life. His mad ideas about the forgotten Continent and his constant babble about the Dark Ages of Africa. Shouting; "WE MOCK YOU IN THIS VERY ROOOM. WE BOTH DO!" He is so lazy and just sits in the corner giggling. I see his face full of spit and start to giggle back.
Until next time my wonderful friend. I do realise you are very busy. I've called and called and called again. You have obviously gone travelling without your mobile phone. Why else would you not pick up when I called and left so many messages. Please come and see sometime. I’m very lonely and miserable so please bring me one of your famous smiles sooner rather than later.
Much love and loneliness from your best friend,