Joshua Thorin Messer

I have just been sent on a madcap joyride through the past. I never know how to put this. Karl is the friend I have known the longest. This is a problem of language, because while the only accurate way I write that, “Karl is the friend I have known the longest” sound shite. But “Karl is my oldest friend” always sounds to me that I’m suggesting he’s 80 years old, and he’s not. We were in elementary school together for 4 months. He knew me before I wore glasses.

Now, Karl, my oldest friend, recently dug up a pile of letters I wrote to him over the course of about 1991-1993 or so. Also one story I wrote after a fugue-dream in the summer of 1992. I have now read those letters and they evoke odd feelings. I remember quite vividly many of the general circumstances and situations written about without having rock solid memories of exact events. I generally do not remember writing the letters themselves, but I clearly recognize my “voice” in them. They are painfully random and sprawling. Whiney and convoluted and raving. Pretentious.

But there are moments in them that I enjoy. Here is my favorite, typed here verbatim from the typewritten letter:

‘Candles made of baby fat, babies made of candle fat.” [mismatched quotes sic]

I would love someone to explain this to me. “Candles made of baby fat” seems to be a common complaint about Satanists. I am hoping the entertaining wordplay that follows is my own, but then why did I use (non-matching) quote marks? I think I’m taking credit anyway.