Dear Friend

Dear Friend,
I am writing to you from my fathers cabin up north. I have isolated myself from the public and taken this time to reflect on personal demons and inner dwelling. I've thought of it as my own personal quest, or Buddhist experience.

Every morning I sleep until 4 A.M, swim naked in the lake, and smoke two cigarettes with my black coffee. I read Brett Easton Ellis while on the can, then heat up a bowl of Irish oatmeal, no sugar, no cream.

My afternoons are spent staring out into the wilderness from my front porch, drawing, sketching or even writing, which I do now.

Often times I find myself getting so lost in my own thoughts and nature that when I snap to the sun is setting and I feel a grumble in my stomach.

People told me I'd be lonely, but actually I'm quite happy. The silence isn't lonely, it's gratifying. I feel at one with this place and can't imagine going back to the city.

No wonder the indigenous are such odd people. I've begun to see things from their perspective and it's a whole new world.

Tonight, I will prepare the last of my steak, prepared in an open fire pit in the backyard of this rustic surrounding.

Tomorrow I am supposed to return, but I've decided to stay, and slit my wrists in the bathtub.

Please don't worry. I have finally found peace. This isn't a cry for attention and I doubt anyone will find my body for a while but it's almost better that way.

Maybe my soul will inhabit this space and live forever, but the idea of seeing this utopia deteriorate like so many good things in this world starts to make me depressed.

So I bid you adieu.

No tears, only laughter.

I'll see you in the next life.

Ray