June 22, 1989.
Dom,
Play. Pause. Rewind. Play. Coffee. Scribble. Pause. Play.
It may bring you jubilation in knowing that the putatively anonymous tapes discernibly marked with your idiosyncratic writing has been generously working my record player for many days past. After all, journals are meant to be read and tapes are meant to be played. No one could tell me where you are buddy, and it’s been too long since I have received any form of reassurance from you. So I figured the only way to alleviate the accumulating uneasiness in my chest was take matters into my own hands. Claire and Anne have helped me here and there when I felt like intervening—I could see past a couple of the bluffs, however. Just miss you pal. I’ve gone through most of your tapes now. I’m beginning to piece together a fraction of the events you recorded and what you were going through by transcribing the tapes with your writings, even though the extent of the documentations still remains somewhat nebulous to me. I mean really! You could have made playing the private investigator a lot easier by cutting the tedious walking footages and still sceneries! But I guess my curiosity leaves me no choice but to make use of what I have. It was wonderful to hear that ingeneous humor of yours that I have came to love, and feel that familiar connection to you, but what would be really sublime is a beer at that little bar we used to visit down by the lake together.
To be honest I am grateful you sent these to me instead of anyone else. At least I have a clue you are still out there making your art and music . Hearing you struggling to make a decision on pie is a hell lot better than getting an earful about you conducting self-destructing actions of any kind. But truthfully, I wouldn’t be able to imagine that: you aren’t the type, you have got too much talent and prudence to debase yourself with anything stupid.
Wolf Cove, huh? Interesting place. Claire seems happy with what little contact you are still keeping with her. It takes a real man to still be able to wheel a girl while he is MIA. I know you feel guilty about leaving her, but know that you didn’t abandon her. You didn’t abandon anyone really… you knew exactly where you wanted to wind up and you made a valorous dash for it—if I understand, she must too. If you wouldn’t mind I’d like to hear the whole story first hand from you soon. But I’ll tell you what, if you feel like dropping by Toronto any time soon I’ll be sure to have an iced cold beer waiting for you in my apartment just like old times, and if we’re board we can dip our own mother’s needle’s in the ball-pen ink and open up our own tattoo parlor. On another note, I hope the vapors you got aren’t hitting you too hard. From what I hear it isn’t a whole lot of fun, and you seemed to get it earlier than most. I don’t know which that makes you, lucky or unlucky. Take it easy on yourself bud. I’m hoping to see you back in the city soon, or I’d be more than glad to travel across the ocean to chat over your beautifully played melodies.
Keep the tapes coming, and best luck to you my friend.
Joe
