Letter One.
Eric Trondson-Clinger

I am typeing! you a letter for the new ways of this apartment to write and live up in gloried ways of being alone. A vision I had white wall kitchen floor single window. small table. wooden with typewriter and the supposedly inspired way thing will come. It seemed like such a wonderful summertime breakfast thing but it turns out to be more for the bad time. No window in the kitchen no small wooden table. no breakfast hours to sit and write in, but a desk in a closet (kinda)(more of an alcove)(closet without doors in middle of wall of mainroom) facing, so, a wall although a picture my friend Jessica drew gloried picture of man and roun cheekbones with plant in hand hat on head. and the wonderful collar of priesthood. kinda. but dark eyes but happy no happy but plain emotion and the huge circle cheekbone leaning toward the plant to love. and the jk essentials of spontaneous prose next not in front of to distract but there as a reminder. I don't want to write of what he does but my own just lost in thought glried way of rocking back and forth listening to my head. and the lamp, found after mysterious brother stealing? no just lost in the aforever basement boxes of my mama. and the crystal ball electronic wave hand over and it speaks. a magic eight ball crystal ball sort of thing. Do I rock? `it is not destined' Does s. rock? `the spirits predict excellent chances of success' Is this a good letter? `NO' Am i lonely tonite `yes' does that really matter? `it is destined' So the crystal ball for all my important decisions and the misc. papers of all boring day writing Eric Trondson-Clinger 1635 Sherburne Ave Apt. 14 st paul mn 55104. WOOHoo. I hate my name being long sometimes. Bill time. and also the old green papercardboard drawer single to hold my notebook and old papers so special to me. Like from tenth grade playing crossword no hang man with `sphynx has rhythm' and other banalities? But the glried old desk antique auction from litchfield days. parents buying all things cool they could get their hands on. and me young and bored looking for toys in the estate sales of always. Or the all town garage sale day of Cosmos all ten or so families having their sales on the same day and finding the glorious bat, my first bat. Wooden too heavy but all mine for a quarter. Small town dirt main street and the elevator downtown. I have been into kids of late and childhood days litchfield (of forest lake trip reason) and watching kids playing in the street driving my car wishing for the simpler days of parent dependence all easy and not this horrible way of working. this cluttered way of all claustrophobia in my closet. work. type. o's. And my chalkboard. with little notes to me not reminders but little snippets of words come into my head. and right now a thing i wrote two and a half times ago about my mama. a little.

the wonderful young ladies of youth, youth my
brooth.In the way of the remin. of the gloried
way of crazy crazy people loving all. not the
laid back oh yeah of always, not the enthu of
the way it should be, the way of the beautiful
shoulder the sinewy flesh of my mama rockin' me.

I only like the last line really. I get the paper here now which is just as good as a tv but I don't feel bad about doing. lzy lzy boy. but i like papers (back to the youth, parents owning paper in St. Peter and the tearsheet deliveries to advertisers (their ad torn out and i give it to them my first job) and also the Land farm paper both parents worked for in litchfield but the greatest the wax machine for layouts get a big sheet of newspaper size layout paper and dig through the trash for pictures and glue.The simple desk JUST for writing. insides. one drawer paper the other typed paper and the drawer unopenable without handle and the one with all the old stuff in the others before. All my important things by me. mostly. the notebooks. the crystal ball. the letters written and received. I am a freak i here for i make copies of letters I write and like. Mister archival. I can't let them go. the picture the lamp desk the pretty box of pretty pictures. And my tax stuff. (file cabinet of no where else to put) but not the giraffe picture of immediately cheer up (doesn't work any mo' any way) or the commode stand. But you can't keep a piece of furniture close to you. or the bookshelf. but the things i like and look through to feel warm inside of remin. (niscing) Enough to be pleasant and fuzzy. And ohmygod the chair. beautiful chair of guitar playing days (no arms) and general sitting in all my days from grandmother plain and solid and mine. the underbutt forgotten most important of all. I like wood lately. Dark or very dark wood stained old looking sturdy beautiful wood. the commode I am thinking about staining (currently unstained oiled or varnished) I learning about it from mother. The gloried piano she gave to me. the greatest gift I have ever received. She bought for fifty dollars brought home took apart. removed all the stain (was a dark color turned black from all the dirt and grime no grain. restained a light color and oiled? only maybe varnished but i think not. and put back together. Hours and hours and hours and she gives it to me. Not when i was younger but later and now that she may sell the house I know not what to do with it. If it doesn't fit. I just may die. but i can't ever leave it. I love it. And my damn sister puts cans of pop on it. and food and damn her i'm gonna have to slap her. Jolly good hard. Good bye.