Marcus,

I left a message on your answering machine
but you have yet to respond. It's been
two weeks, perhaps more. I lost count.

At the moment, the streaks have accelerated
and multiplied. They resemble an arial view of
cyclists competing in the Tour de France; they're
like multitudes of ***** pennies vying for that one
eternal slot.

Hey, man. At least I tried. I'm drained of all that
is sacred. The me you knew as a child, is still that
innocent figure left standing by the door. Except
this time, he's not coming back anymore.

I guess you could say I'm finally free.

How silly it is to depend on such modern
machinery. Man has come this far just to end up abandoned.
And yet  man is constantly searching for a self to wrap up
in a tidy little package; to display for the entire world to see.

I thought I'd drop by, in the form
of random sequences; this present motion
is like a ballon being released from it's
needy little string. The desire was always
following me around, but now
I'm fathoms deep in the sky;

Drowning happily.

Marcus, if you find the time
to put aside the nuclear children
and wife. Please call back,

so we can have that man to man

talk you promised for so

many years.