Hey ho,
Where to start? Who knows? Not me that’s for damn sure. I don't even know if this letter will ever be seen by you as I do not have your address in Tranent or even if you still live there, I do however have your mum’s phone number but will not call for fear of getting your mum or dad on the other end and receive the fury of a parent when dealing with someone who could have killed a child of theirs.

The reason for this letter is that you have been on my mind and in my dreams a lot lately and there are ghosts that need laid to rest before I can get whatever kind of fucked up mess that my life is in at the moment into order before I venture into the next part of it. I realise that if this letter reaches you I may be dragging up sludge from the lake of pastimes that, maybe, should be left where they are but I am a very introspective type of loon and need some things cleaned and cleared out of my spirit.

I guess the main thing I want to have a discussion with you about is something that you may want left well alone for whatever reasons, be they personal or emotional, whatever you decide will be what I do. It plays upon my mind at times (especially around the time of my birthday, a time when I spend all of the day lying in my bed dwelling upon better days) the mistake (or was it?) that happened on that of all days. I trust you know what it is that I'm talking about....

But enough of that just now, I guess I should let you have the meat of this mail before I start to pick the bones clean like a ravenous vulture at a dead chimps tea party, life has taken a turn towards a better way for me, I've moved house, I've almost but not quite decided that my future is in my hands and that I have to do something about where I'm headed.

I'm considering a move of career, going back to school, and shoving my hand into the fire of writing for a living. The writing world doesn't realise what the fuck is about to hit it as I feel that the only writer I've ever read that sounds vaguely like me is the good doctor Hunter S Thompson, writer of fear and loathing in Las Vegas. No doubt you’ll have heard of him. If not get a hold of that book, lock yourself in a room with a loud stereo, a shit-load of drink and drugs, crack the stereo to it’s maximum decibel level, swallow about half the first bottle in one go, smoke a big fucking joint snort a line or two of coke/speed and start to read and don't even think about putting the book down or stopping the drink/drug intake until you have reached the end of it. Don't consider answering the door, if it’s anyone worth a fuck they will come back at a later time, and if it’s the cops you’ll know when they kick the door in and begin to beat you with rubber hoses and night sticks, which will only add to the enjoyment of the book...
But enough of that mad vein I stumbled into for a second there, back to whatever it is that passes for normality in this fetid, stinking, puss filled world of ours which is currently hovering on the brink of war caused by that moronic fuck-wit George W Bush and his ventriloquist’s dummy Tony Blair for no reason other than someone told George Dubyah that Saddam has a bigger dick than him and wears better quality women's underwear from the sears catalogue, whoa! where the fuck did that come from? I sometimes wonder.... the new house isn't a million miles from the old house (more like three hundred yards. in fact if i open my living room window and lean out a bit further than anyone in their normal mind would consider safe i can see my old house) but is a million miles away from it in terms of cleanliness, liveability and comfort, sadly though, apart from my family only one person has ever been inside it and after she finished reading my gas meter she left me alone to wonder what if.... what if, the two most used but seldom tested words in the English language, what if, I had treated you better than I did? what if, I actually tried to let you know what i felt for you at the time, what if, i just decided that it aint worth the hassle and just sold up and fucked off to Nepal to study Buddhism? what if? what if? what if....

what if we have a drink or ten with each other just for old times sake? i’ll provide the rum, the pineapple and the hunting knife for carving the pineapple into chunks and you can bring the mixers. what say you on that front? a drink? or perhaps a meal involving copious amounts of alcohol in large glasses with those wonderful little parasols which are very handy for sticking into the hands of the waiter when he insists on interrupting a conversation which has interested him from the small snippets he overhears as he asks you for the millionth time if everything is OK or if he can get you another drink....

there i go again, wandering off the subject like a pensioner in a nightgown and slippers at 5am complete with the mandatory look of puzzlement upon my face....

I have recently become an international jetsetter, well I say recently it was in July, Steff and I (did you notice how I said Steff and I and not me and Steff, my language skills are really getting better. if my English teachers could see this letter they’d shit a brick) went over to Amsterdam to see the Grand Prix (bikes) and to cut loose for three days. Steff of course was more than interested in trying to hump anything that moved, personally I was too busy trying to swallow and smoke as much of the local drug supply as was humanly possible, I never slept for 79 hours thanks to the very liberal drug laws which means that magic mushrooms are legal to buy (also you could buy peyote cactus but couldn’t bring them back into the country, i nearly wept when i found that out as peyote is a drug i would love to sample. purely in the interests of science you understand....) and you can buy a mushroom laced cup of tea in almost every hash bar in Amsterdam, personally I liked the hash milkshakes (available in any flavour that you could care to mention, my favourite was strawberry and banana with whipped cream. that must be the best kind of milk to pour on your cornflakes, i know, i tried) and the hash coffees, not only can you wake up and within five minutes walk from the hotel you could get a pick me up and mellow me out cup of java that you would love.

i guess you’ll have sussed that i have a computer in the house. I'm currently in the process of writing one kids book, (about a kid named miles who lives in a village called nowhere and goes on an adventure, what kind of adventure I'm not sure i haven't worked that out yet) one comedy book, (about a couple of ice cream salesmen/grave robbers that dress as clowns while robbing the graves to sell the body’s to a scientist in order to buy a country house to make an orphanage) and have written six full length comedy sketches for TV. I would put a couple of them in here but I'm not sure that this will ever reach you so I wont let them loose upon the world in case some half assed mother fucker gets a hold of them and makes the money I should be making.... fame and fortune here I come??? I hope so. money for doing nothing seems like a great career for me as I have no life and sit awake staring at the computer and daydream my life away so why the fuck shouldn't I get paid for doing what I'm good at....

anyhoo i’ll let you get away to whatever it was that you were doing before this blast from your past fell out the sky like a big ball of shit from an aircraft toilet (which would possibly be more welcomed, maybe?)

send a note,
i can be contacted at the address and phone number above (phone has an answering machine so you can leave a message for me if you want, even if it’s just to tell me to go fuck myself and to get on with my life) or send an E-mail to me at this address the_poetmaster@yahoo.co.uk

give my regards to your family (which will possibly bring comments like “what does that fucker want” from at least one of them, maybes yes maybes no) and even if i dont hear from you take care and have a good one..... and on that note i shall cast this letter into the void of our once great letters to each other.