The 17th of June 1958 – Lugo, Emilia-Romagna

(found beneath a bunch of pulled-up weeds piled up behind the porch)

Dear Joey,

It’s too hard to understand. I don’t understand how come you can’t just use simple words and simple sentences. All your sentences just seem empty and meaningless. They look fancy, but they’re empty – like a colorful birthday piñata.

Why do you even tell me any of that stuff anyways? What am I going to do with it? It’s not like your telling me a problem you need to solve or an issue you need to resolve or anything like that. You’re just spouting off a bunch of thoughts. You’re just spouting them off right at me, like I’m some kind of bucket. Well, I’m not bucket, Joey, and I’m no garbage can for your thoughts.

Well, I got thoughts too, Joey. I got plenty of thoughts. That’s why I came here. That’s why I came here, to the countryside in this country. There’s no cities, and there’s no traffic, and there’s no need for all those thoughts that just breed more and more and more thoughts.

Instead, there’s farmland. Nice and peaceful farmland. And what do you get with farmland? Cultivation. Deliberate cultivation. There’s space between everything. None of that overcrowding you get back home. No more thoughts stacked up, one on top of the other in a giant wriggling mass. No.

Instead of those thoughts, you get ideas. Clear, bright, shining ideas. Ideas that breathe and have room to breathe. Joey. Finish up with all those thoughts. Come here and enjoy some good ideas.




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