The most interesting thing I found however was a (rather long) voice recording. I recorded it back when I lived in the 'burbs, while driving home from some long-forgotten thing. For your entertainment, I've transcribed it. I thought about editing it for length and clarity, but then it would be about two sentences long and articulate and readable.
It's a letter to Celica:
Well, here's another fantastic letter to yourself. Or, er, that is: you.
Most, you know, of my correspondence is wordy, highly obtuse stuff that doesn't really say anything (though it says it well). It's usually meandering, there's no point, or story. It's all foreword in fact.
I've realized that this is my strength; I should be the writer of forewords. You know: that cordial part of a book that no one ever reads? You skip past it immediately? But it says stuff. I mean, I don't read them personally, but I've been told they do. It sets up the story with an anecdote, or some origin story about the book, but is not an essential part of the story. I think that's a good metaphor for the way I write. A meandering anecdote about a story -- but isn't, er, important. Like for example:
"I thought about my earlier travels when read..."
Or,
"This book is timely because..."
And so forth. Unless it's fiction and then you have prologues. Which I guess is a preamble to the story, I think. Er, I don't know what the point is. I’m not really one for them. But the foreword, I can write. Any unnecessary bulge that sounds sorta like this, you know, with some details of the story, tangentially related, but is nevertheless, uh, not interesting. That’s me.
So, I'm driving my car now, and talking alone in a space like this I feel like I'm on CBC radio, er, your equivalent I guess would be National Public Radio; basically bland, banal voices in an empty studio, no sound effects, no, uh, you know, “KB and the weird guy” in the morning, it's just, you know, just plain jane, dull radio, not really about anything. Interviews with obscure guests like a horticulturist from Santa Ana... who's got something clever to say, or-not-even-clever, I don't know; I don't even listen to the radio that much.
I was listening to CBC Radio today though. It was about a curator of a shoe museum. I think that's self explanatory.
I'm really enjoying the isolation of this Little Car Bubble Radio Studio. I spend a lot of my day surrounded by people and I might hate that. A lot. I think that's what really bothers me. It's be nice to have some time alone or with people I actually enjoy spending time with, but people at work… well, I guess they're OK. I don't mind the people at work. It's the people I’m literally surrounded by that bother me. The people on transit.
They are just the worse people ever. People in transit… something about people on their way somewhere makes… it makes you insane… it makes you evil. Makes you capable of violence you would not ordinarily be capable of, but because you're travelling it, well, it makes you crazy.
It’s the uh, same phenomenon as, for example, if you're walking up the street or, no, if you’re driving in your car with a tape recorder to your mouth, you're, I don't know, you're more inclined to do it while the car is in motion, but somehow when I stop I feel self conscious. Like it’s weird to be talking to myself. But I’m doing 100 KPH right now so it’s fine. I'm even willing to do crazy things like beat box.
I’m not going to beat box.
But you see my point. Motion makes people crazy. And this is such an important discovery, I’m surprised that most scientific research today isn't devoted strictly on advances in that area. That’s a stretch, I guess. Regardless, I’m in motion now, and I guess that makes me crazy, and that is why I am recording this. This preamble. This irrelevant foreword.
Anyway, long-story-short, that is why I didn't write my previous letter to you. Because I realised it would suck.
I was given another opportunity just last week when I heard that you had moved to Louisville, KY, and of course it makes me happy to know that you are feeding goats. I should have suspected as much, to be honest.
How interesting that you've traveled so far, and come so close to goats, since we were last within spitting distance. Because what I've achieved is far (long pause) far less in comparison because...
You see, I just stopped talking there, because I was at a red light. I was feeling a little self-conscious about taking into this thing. Strange though it may it seem I must re-state: motion makes you crazy.
Anyway, I have had a lot of lofty goals. Namely moving out, and going back to school. Both of those are on the “backburner” as they say. And you know when somebody tells you that, it’s a cue to roll your eyes and just imagine that in 40 years they're doing the exact same thing as they're doing now but balder and fatter and much more miserable. At least that's what I do. Or at least, that is what I would recommend to you in this instance.I wish I could say I was drunk when I recorded this, but I was clearly behind the wheel. My favourite part of this mess is something I couldn't transcribe. It's the futility and urgency in my voice when I ask, "Are you even... oh, never mind." I'm pretty sure I was going to ask "are you even going to hear these words?" And I knew the answer before I even started the thought.
No, I think, er, they're just on the backburner because I'm just too busy being "fistfucked" at work. And... (pause) you know, which is awesome, because as odd as this will sound, I sort of like it. I do – fuck, I regret saying that. I really shouldn't have gone there, it's just terrible. Um.
No, it's good, I’m busy…. (pause) I’m stopped again, that's why I can't talk. I'm even sort of whispering which is ridiculous because there's no one else in the car here. Are you even... oh, never mind.
It seems that as you slow down, the insanity slows too, and you become normal, and become inclined to do normal things (like your taxes), and... I'm waiting for this cyclist who is going so slow. Why are you going so slow? And what is this clown doing? Just turn.
And now I’m in my driveway, and talking into my cell phone in the middle of the night -- to no one. This is crazy talk. I guess that this car is idling makes it mildly acceptable, but once I turn this key it’s back to the real world. Goodnight.
My least favourite part is the rest of it. At least I successfully demonstrated the effects of high speeds on correspondence. I'm sorry you experienced it.
The irony is, despite my thesis that motion makes you crazy, this was a time in my life when I felt I was going nowhere, and I think that was the true source of my insanity, my letters and night-time recordings. Motion doesn't make you crazy: spinning your wheels does. You might also say I was running backwards writing forewords, but perhaps that's a bit too pat.
At any rate it's now illegal to ramble incoherently into a cell phone while driving. Thank God for that.
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