you'd responded, “It's fine.”). You wouldn't speak to me for several days after that and I didn't know why, except I guessed you thought I couldn't hold my weed, which seemed ridiculous, because you gave me drugs and I acted weird, which is how people act on drugs. So what if I drove to some North Suburb and parked my car at a Super America where I ate three horrible rotisserie hot dogs and a terrifying Mex wrap called a Taquito? Of course I did that. I was on drugs, which you gave me.
But now, of course, it occurs to me that you understood something about my wife Mary and what she meant to me. What you understood at that moment was: T. is not in this with me for the long haul because he ran away to Lino Lakes to hide his car from his wife.
I'm so sorry. I made no mistakes in my whole life, because all choices led to you. But then I didn't choose you. How could God have let this happen?
I shouldn't smoke hashish. But it is too late. I crumbled this oily, Moroccan stuff I got from the bar into tobacco, and the guy next to me rolled it up in a cigarette, smiling at me, because I can't roll a joint right and now I am getting high, Chels, and I am not paranoid, Chels, there's nothing to fear anymore for obvious reasons . . . But I am on fire, because I'm thinking of you and I know why you left me . . . It wasn't the fact I was married, but the fact I didn't see God's plan, which was that you and I were supposed to be. If I saw God in your face, then I have no faith in God, because I drove to Lino Lakes.
Holy Christ. I'm so high. This is different. There has to be a way to tone this down, because I am going to be sick in this place. I will likely keel over dead. This is terrible. I have to go for a walk. I need to get some air, and I can't even read what I'm writing, how could you? That's fine because you don't care. Please.
No, Chels. I love you. I love you. I always have forever even before I was born and I would never have left you and this whole thing might be different. I don't know anything, but my heart is going to explode, Chelsea.
Day Seven:
Transcript 3
----
I obviously survived.
Actually, it was good. It was a good feeling. At least when I came down a little. I really thought my heart was exploding at first . . . but . . . I did feel close to something authentic, high, touching the metal railings on bridges over the canals. Something real, sort of sublime, I guess, which I wanted.
I conflated God with drugs? Uh . . . I don't think so.
Don't you think there are drug users out there who are recreational users, who prefer smoking hash to—to—riding dune buggies—or fishing? Is every impractical act a search for God?
What are practical acts then?
Letter 23
September 18, 2004
----
Chels,
Cranberry left me a note while I was out high. We're supposed to go to Antwerp tomorrow, but he wants to take another day with Kaatje. Should I let him derail my plans? He did say, “Please.” What about my truth finding? What about my search for the father I did not know? Should I let Cranberry go?
Yes. God bless him. I want him to find his Chelsea before it's too late.
Yes, his you. You've become my stand-in for great love. I mean, what if I met you now, on a plane headed for Amsterdam? What if I sat in the center aisle of a DC-10, between a mother with a screaming child and a girl with black hair and black eyes, who turned to me upon takeoff and said, “I dreamt about you last night”? What if we met now? I would throw everything else out, and we'd smoke hash together, maybe, or maybe we wouldn't need to, and we'd kiss on bridges and watch the bikers pass by, and we'd make love in a hotel. I'd give up everything for you now.
Okay. I'm breathing. Okay. I'm having a Coke (the soda).
Isn't it funny that I was reticent to be with you because I feared losing everything else and then I lost you along with everything else?
Why reticence? I had built a structure—a family, a house, a career. Even though the
But now, of course, it occurs to me that you understood something about my wife Mary and what she meant to me. What you understood at that moment was: T. is not in this with me for the long haul because he ran away to Lino Lakes to hide his car from his wife.
I'm so sorry. I made no mistakes in my whole life, because all choices led to you. But then I didn't choose you. How could God have let this happen?
I shouldn't smoke hashish. But it is too late. I crumbled this oily, Moroccan stuff I got from the bar into tobacco, and the guy next to me rolled it up in a cigarette, smiling at me, because I can't roll a joint right and now I am getting high, Chels, and I am not paranoid, Chels, there's nothing to fear anymore for obvious reasons . . . But I am on fire, because I'm thinking of you and I know why you left me . . . It wasn't the fact I was married, but the fact I didn't see God's plan, which was that you and I were supposed to be. If I saw God in your face, then I have no faith in God, because I drove to Lino Lakes.
Holy Christ. I'm so high. This is different. There has to be a way to tone this down, because I am going to be sick in this place. I will likely keel over dead. This is terrible. I have to go for a walk. I need to get some air, and I can't even read what I'm writing, how could you? That's fine because you don't care. Please.
No, Chels. I love you. I love you. I always have forever even before I was born and I would never have left you and this whole thing might be different. I don't know anything, but my heart is going to explode, Chelsea.
Day Seven:
Transcript 3
----
I obviously survived.
Actually, it was good. It was a good feeling. At least when I came down a little. I really thought my heart was exploding at first . . . but . . . I did feel close to something authentic, high, touching the metal railings on bridges over the canals. Something real, sort of sublime, I guess, which I wanted.
I conflated God with drugs? Uh . . . I don't think so.
Don't you think there are drug users out there who are recreational users, who prefer smoking hash to—to—riding dune buggies—or fishing? Is every impractical act a search for God?
What are practical acts then?
Letter 23
September 18, 2004
----
Chels,
Cranberry left me a note while I was out high. We're supposed to go to Antwerp tomorrow, but he wants to take another day with Kaatje. Should I let him derail my plans? He did say, “Please.” What about my truth finding? What about my search for the father I did not know? Should I let Cranberry go?
Yes. God bless him. I want him to find his Chelsea before it's too late.
Yes, his you. You've become my stand-in for great love. I mean, what if I met you now, on a plane headed for Amsterdam? What if I sat in the center aisle of a DC-10, between a mother with a screaming child and a girl with black hair and black eyes, who turned to me upon takeoff and said, “I dreamt about you last night”? What if we met now? I would throw everything else out, and we'd smoke hash together, maybe, or maybe we wouldn't need to, and we'd kiss on bridges and watch the bikers pass by, and we'd make love in a hotel. I'd give up everything for you now.
Okay. I'm breathing. Okay. I'm having a Coke (the soda).
Isn't it funny that I was reticent to be with you because I feared losing everything else and then I lost you along with everything else?
Why reticence? I had built a structure—a family, a house, a career. Even though the
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