First letter, first week

my epic love,
thank you for your beautiful words, as always they are fuel, desire and gentle madness. they call me from so far away this time, out of somewhere deeper than the black yawn of those years before us, way back when the universe inhaled at my shoulder, over these judas tree hills, this jasmine fog, the 3000 mile convex oceanic lung....and so its terror to be here, a plague of sense, experience as pestilence, the loneliness of the starlight walker, the terraformer blues, motherfucker ! last night i was thinking of miller, and so thinking of you. he is one truth here, among many others (conrad, herzog, peckinpah) but alone in the night with your ghost its hard (or perhaps safer) to see the rest.....you will see, we can only dig for this truth together...yass, yass my queen, its a brutal culture hustle; american dead-tech sitting on cocaine runways behind american dead sitting on rolex streets, leather bound cruiseship widows hunting for a day of braided hair and tropical horse cock, ejecting down gangplanks serenaded by no13 hookers from unlucky casinos, mr cool, the fuckin colonel kurtz of air con, whose belly is pregnant with an unspeakable violence that expires through his low bony voice, beheaded tiger sharks sharing freezer space with kobi beef in supermarkets that shine quietly with tiny ambrosial feathers of french gentility (foie, cheese, bread, wine) birds like jewels whose microscopic songs carry your voice to me at 6am....i miss you desperately, ms martinez, without you these words speak of visions seen through nerves, dead before they take weight in the viscera. i think of you with every perfect move you make through babylon, with every pull of the medusa on your muscles i pull with her from 3000 miles away, take good care, take your pills, go to ceramics, print, paint and draw, eat properly and promise me your gifts of cum and sweat, smiles and laughter, memory and silence. i adore you my queen.