warrentong.com

This is for the girl formerly known as Joanna, although she is still referred to as such in some circles.

Dear Asia,

Here you will find a blog entry addressed to you personally. I am very grateful for your recent letter, and am pleased to hear that you are doing well. Since I am pressed for time at the moment, I just wanted to make a quick note about how lovely your pictures are. Austria looks great this time of year. Rest assured, a much lengthier and more thorough response is coming to you soon. In the meantime, please send Raja my regards. Here is a snippet of what I have been working on.

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Sometimes we’ll get really drunk, and we’ll do some fucked up shit. Like shoving girls, or throwing drinks into people’s faces, or setting furniture on fire. You know, all part of a good night out, or the prelude to a sobering morning in jail.
But sometimes, we’ll get drunk, and get into a car and drive. And other cars with innocent drivers and innocent passengers look on as you have one close call after another, swerving in and out of lanes, weaving through late night traffic. And one driver might catch a glimpse of you in their rearview mirror and think, “Man, look at this asshole. He’s driving like a madman.” And then he might check again and think, “Wait, he’s coming right at me. He’s not gonna hit me, is he? He’s — oh shit — he’s gonna — Fuck!”
And then crash. And skid, and swerve, and two more crashes, glass raining down everywhere.
And then body bags.
Yeah, I survived one of these accidents. But I’m not going to sit here and say something corny like I found a new lease on life. We’re all messed up anyway.
But you see, she was the most beautifully flawed person I had ever met in my life. And I killed her.

Hope that holds you over for now.

-Warren

ps. Please excuse my formal tone in the letter. It is a force of habit, I think.

She asked him at his door
on an early Saturday morning.
His hangover spoke louder than she did.
And entrance into the eternal kingdom
of heaven just wasn’t enticing enough.
“What do I get for joining?” he asked.
“You mean besides salvation?”
She wondered what could be better.
“Yeah, do I get like an Ipod or something?”

By the beach where it’s warm,
where you can breathe in
the smell of freshly open paint.
Where inspiration comes from a seagull
landing on a seashell.

This cash register does not suit you,
yet no one told you when you were little
that you’d have to work a real job
while your passion for painting
shrank down to just a hobby.

She waited for him,
a long dreadful year
of pretending to be busy.
As Spring brought warmer days,
the familiar smells
of the air conditioning
reminded her of last year’s hopes.
But when the day finally came,
he seemed different.
He was just as caring
and just as sweet as she remembered
but it wasn’t enough.

There were days I’d stay up past my bedtime
dreaming of the ways I’d make it.
I didn’t grow up with that California sunshine
unfortunately, we had that incredible cynicism,
a synergy of realism and anger,
waiting to escape.
Where we’d tell each other,
you never know,
but would never expect more.