hi mom, how funny you called just as i was about to post this! you got the vibe! dig.
so, i was just feelin' quilty, er, guilty, i wanted to write you a letter, i wanted to send you somethin', but what? the cold has zapped my vitality and desertified my brain. and shit's happening i can never understand. so much weird shit! so much random violence and hate. i didn't mean to say this, i meant to say i love you and wish i'd had my shit together and sent a letter and a present and when it warms up by god i'ma gonna. but also i feel like a little lost kid who needs a mom though he's a old fucker. i know they always say it's human nature, we always been fucked up, but ma, it feels differnt now. it feels like everything is fraught, everything is lies and propaganda, like we in a cold desert of the real and my face is hurting in this deathly imperial wind. omg i have to stop mom. just read the part that says what i wanted to do and the part that says i love you.
your old boy, doug

p.s. oh yeah i wanted to say about thoreau, how he left walden and went to work in his family pencil works, and redesigned the pencil you see today balanced on the head of my golden doppelganger, copp.