Monday, April 12, 2004
Mass Email From A Pretentious College Junior To His Shithead Friends
FROM:PAuster11@Freemail.com
TO: RosncrtznGlnstrnrded@Freemail.com, Babybear@Freemail.com, GLaroux@Oxfam.org, Trippydippie@Freemail.com, RSanderson.1@nyu.edu, PLO4evr@Freemail.com
SUBJECT: The Auctioneer Cleared His Throat. Oedipa Settled Back, To Await The Crying Of Lot 49
Salut once again, all--This time from Prague:
Unfortunately, no points will be awarded to those of you who identify what novel this is obviously the last line from, except John because he doesn't read. No offense.
Sorry I haven't written in awhile. I haven't stumbled across many internet cafes recently...in point of fact I've been avoiding them. They always seem to be near the McDonalds, and I didn't spend the semester in Eastern Europe to be reminded of that.
Well, some of you may remember that I said I was going to try to get from Vienna to Prague only by the "power of my thumb", so to speak. It worked, and I have to say I really got to understand the common Czech person so much better as a result, just as I had hoped. Taking a train defeats the entire purpose of being here. Of course my father was freaking out the whole time, which is just like him. I had some truly amazing moments that I will treasure for the rest of my life. The act of journeying is what's so fucking special about this experience, the destinations and departures but the excuse to journey on.
I'm currently staying with this really cool Prague hash dealer I met in the Mala Strana (Little Quarter, for those of you not lucky enough to have been here). He's just so amazing, educated by life more than the bullshit of "college", you know? I mean, this guy has no education at all, but just from his fucking life experiences he knows more than those asshole, stuffed-shirt, trust fund Poli-Sci majors I had to put up with back at NYU will ever learn from a classroom. He was telling me about how it's perfectly clear if you look at the evidence that Massad blew up the WTC on 9/11...and I'm not saying I know that's true or whatever, but it's better than the fucking American "press", if you can even call it that anymore with all their corporate fucking entanglements. Rachel, you'd love this guy...his name's Jaromir, he's into Crass and Def Leopard, and has this crazy cowboy hat with the word "Pizza" scribbled on it--he's so funny. I'll send a pic.
Since I got over here four weeks ago, I just feel really distanced from the U.S. You know? I just feel like I don't even belong there anymore--I can't even understand my own country. I feel so much more at home here--in this little apartment, around chill people like Jaromir and his clients--who aren't so caught up in the careerocracy and shirt-and-tie bullshit of the States. Maybe now isn't the best time to bring it up guys, but I feel like I could really make a home here.
I'm just so fucking inspired at the moment. Sitting on a bench in Wenceslas Square, just soaking in this amazing, inspiring, wonderful place...I've started writing again. Slowly at first, but now it's just pouring out of me...thoughts in rivers, rivulets, streams, tributaries. I have a goal for myself, and maybe I shouldn't even say anything until it's done, but I trust all of you guys so much, you mean so much to me. I'm going to do it. I'm going to write that novel. I just can't let this inspiration go.
Listen guys--you're my family--relations are just an accident of birth, I've chosen to put you in the inner recesses of my heart. We're young, we're so fucking smart, and gifted, and extraordinary--we really can't be dragged down by the bullshit. I really think we should try to do something different...something important. We only get one life, and I know I won't be wasting mine behind some desk. We're better than that. I hope you're listening especially, Evan, I know how down you've been about graduating and applying to business school. Don't fucking do it if it doesn't make you happy, man. I love you too much to see you do that--you've been such a good friend, and you're such an unbelievable, one-of-a-kind fucking incredible person.
Anyway--back to the novel. My goal is to sit in one of the parks of Petrin Hill every day for the next three weeks--and just let the atmosphere soak into me. And just write. And just fucking write. And write into my notebook every day until it's done. I really need to internalize this city, this incredible city, you know? I'm tired of the Walmarts, and the Barnes & Nobles, and the fastfood joints, and the fucking SUVs. I'm *hoping* my Paul Auster influence won't be too overbearing! It's going to be about this fucking office from the perspective of a copying machine. This is where I need to be to do this.
That's all for now, I think. I'm so spent, guys. I've been up for like fucking ever. I haven't shaved in two weeks! You should see me, Rachel, I know how you love the scruff (j/k!). Okay, here's a harder one, assholes: "They bore him to his room. And before nightfall a shocked and respectful world received the news of his death." If you give up, I'll write the title backwards below.
Cheers, Rick
(Answer: htaed ni ecinev, samoht nnam)
[andreimarko@hotmail.com]
TO: RosncrtznGlnstrnrded@Freemail.com, Babybear@Freemail.com, GLaroux@Oxfam.org, Trippydippie@Freemail.com, RSanderson.1@nyu.edu, PLO4evr@Freemail.com
SUBJECT: The Auctioneer Cleared His Throat. Oedipa Settled Back, To Await The Crying Of Lot 49
Salut once again, all--This time from Prague:
Unfortunately, no points will be awarded to those of you who identify what novel this is obviously the last line from, except John because he doesn't read. No offense.
Sorry I haven't written in awhile. I haven't stumbled across many internet cafes recently...in point of fact I've been avoiding them. They always seem to be near the McDonalds, and I didn't spend the semester in Eastern Europe to be reminded of that.
Well, some of you may remember that I said I was going to try to get from Vienna to Prague only by the "power of my thumb", so to speak. It worked, and I have to say I really got to understand the common Czech person so much better as a result, just as I had hoped. Taking a train defeats the entire purpose of being here. Of course my father was freaking out the whole time, which is just like him. I had some truly amazing moments that I will treasure for the rest of my life. The act of journeying is what's so fucking special about this experience, the destinations and departures but the excuse to journey on.
I'm currently staying with this really cool Prague hash dealer I met in the Mala Strana (Little Quarter, for those of you not lucky enough to have been here). He's just so amazing, educated by life more than the bullshit of "college", you know? I mean, this guy has no education at all, but just from his fucking life experiences he knows more than those asshole, stuffed-shirt, trust fund Poli-Sci majors I had to put up with back at NYU will ever learn from a classroom. He was telling me about how it's perfectly clear if you look at the evidence that Massad blew up the WTC on 9/11...and I'm not saying I know that's true or whatever, but it's better than the fucking American "press", if you can even call it that anymore with all their corporate fucking entanglements. Rachel, you'd love this guy...his name's Jaromir, he's into Crass and Def Leopard, and has this crazy cowboy hat with the word "Pizza" scribbled on it--he's so funny. I'll send a pic.
Since I got over here four weeks ago, I just feel really distanced from the U.S. You know? I just feel like I don't even belong there anymore--I can't even understand my own country. I feel so much more at home here--in this little apartment, around chill people like Jaromir and his clients--who aren't so caught up in the careerocracy and shirt-and-tie bullshit of the States. Maybe now isn't the best time to bring it up guys, but I feel like I could really make a home here.
I'm just so fucking inspired at the moment. Sitting on a bench in Wenceslas Square, just soaking in this amazing, inspiring, wonderful place...I've started writing again. Slowly at first, but now it's just pouring out of me...thoughts in rivers, rivulets, streams, tributaries. I have a goal for myself, and maybe I shouldn't even say anything until it's done, but I trust all of you guys so much, you mean so much to me. I'm going to do it. I'm going to write that novel. I just can't let this inspiration go.
Listen guys--you're my family--relations are just an accident of birth, I've chosen to put you in the inner recesses of my heart. We're young, we're so fucking smart, and gifted, and extraordinary--we really can't be dragged down by the bullshit. I really think we should try to do something different...something important. We only get one life, and I know I won't be wasting mine behind some desk. We're better than that. I hope you're listening especially, Evan, I know how down you've been about graduating and applying to business school. Don't fucking do it if it doesn't make you happy, man. I love you too much to see you do that--you've been such a good friend, and you're such an unbelievable, one-of-a-kind fucking incredible person.
Anyway--back to the novel. My goal is to sit in one of the parks of Petrin Hill every day for the next three weeks--and just let the atmosphere soak into me. And just write. And just fucking write. And write into my notebook every day until it's done. I really need to internalize this city, this incredible city, you know? I'm tired of the Walmarts, and the Barnes & Nobles, and the fastfood joints, and the fucking SUVs. I'm *hoping* my Paul Auster influence won't be too overbearing! It's going to be about this fucking office from the perspective of a copying machine. This is where I need to be to do this.
That's all for now, I think. I'm so spent, guys. I've been up for like fucking ever. I haven't shaved in two weeks! You should see me, Rachel, I know how you love the scruff (j/k!). Okay, here's a harder one, assholes: "They bore him to his room. And before nightfall a shocked and respectful world received the news of his death." If you give up, I'll write the title backwards below.
Cheers, Rick
(Answer: htaed ni ecinev, samoht nnam)
[andreimarko@hotmail.com]
