Snow Country

Hi Thomas,

I wrote to you for the first time over Thanksgiving break. I think I am going to start writing some things here for a couple of reasons. There are a lot of things I want to tell you, too much for the time that we have right now. I think the time will bend in our favor. So, this makes sense to me. Maybe this will be the place that I record things I want to tell you later. Likely. This feels like a parallel life or thread of consciousness that is starting, like, a grafted limb. Or rather actually, a bud, so I'm going to treat it that way and not try to trim it.

We talked last night in LIC. It was good. There are so many words you have said that come together in my mind. You told me this morning on the phone that I don't have to apologize. That was good. I feel the same way.

It's early, 7am. I just got off the phone with my friend Ania, who lives in LA and happened to be up. She told me about a season in Poland in between winter and spring, when the snow melts. This is significant to me because the way that she makes me feel, which is also in part the way that I feel with you, or think that I am going to feel, is like swimming with my head under in a very particular temperature of water, deep cool. This has come to me in two ways in my life-in the Pyrenees mountains, all of the streams that we dip our toes in during the summer are melted directly from ice floes. Then there is a book I read in high school, Snow Country, by Kawabata, and I can't remember the content, but I think it is about the time between winter and spring, and the ice melting.

I get excited about the day since I met you. I mean, I have always been excited about it, but not this way in New York. I think that you bring the midwest here, or the feeling that I used to have when I drew. Or the feeling that I have when I make something now, its like, I am awake. That's all right now. I am awake.