-A question – are you writing [expletive deleted] or is that some setting that is censoring your words?!
If so, how very dare it! If not, stop fucking about and write the fucking expletives!)
So, it’s really happening.
-It is.
No phones?
-We don’t need phones.
diary—sketch
Slept like the dead last night after wrestling with formatting issues (of all things) the night before kept me mission orientated. Now there’s a phrase appropriate for the circumstances: military in origin, its denotation rigid—worthy of future exploration? (What isn’t)—focus.1
I. Am. Focused.
Should I have been ready for contact? Yes of course—but no, that’s presumptuous. But is it though? Why should it be presumptuous? The odds were greater than one … or is that “not zero” … ok, think. New paragraph, start again. Am I fucking talking to myself? Does it matter?
What are the odds of maintaining an imaginary relationship for 20 years with … what do I call her now? She was an Anna. She was THAT GIRL. Still an Anna? No, too loaded … a touch loaded. I need to think about defining what “an” means in this context; then “girl,” obviously. But “Anna?”
There’s only been the one. Clearly, she’s a “the,” so … the article’s superfluous. It’s just Anna. But she was never, “just” anything … even then.
Was she “just?” Was what she did to me just anything?
Fucking otherworldly is what she was … but not obviously so.
So what in the almighty godfuck am I doing? It’s an email, one fucking email and I’m losing my mind. I’ve literally been inside this woman. I’ve loved this woman. We have been intimate and dedicated and … Is it excitement? What sorcery is this?
It’s thrilling is what it is.
Something magical is happening. I need to think more clearly, which is absurd, impossible, because … it’s her.
Some people are just ethereal beings pretending to be next-door neighbours.
Ok, ok … deep breaths. Lets not be so obviously demented. It’s just Anna.
I’m so fucked.
—JustD
1 but clearly not focused enough to recognised such spectacularly awful syntax. Truly horrible. And no, you/I, whomever the fuck, don’t get to claim dispensation because it was SOC. Thank God no one will ever read this read this.
*The image is Gerhard Richter’s, Abstraktes Bild (P1)
Letters For Anna 
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