Letter from The Lion Statue In Madison Square Park

I get such a huge amount of play, I've gotta tell you. I know Madison Square Park is considered one of the most mundane squares of green in this city, but I tell you it's perfect for me. Check this shit out: There ain't no other statue around, I own this place. They look up and what do they see? They see the Empire State Building and they see me. Both of us titans of steel and stone, strong and ruthless, standing over them. We're fucking kings. But I'm supposed to be a king. I'm a lion.

Sure, I let the kids play around me. I let the young professionals sit on my steps and use their palm pilots or read their books or play with their cell phones. I encourage all that shit because you know what? They don't feel safe doing that anywhere else but under me and see, that's all I'm talking about? Where do you go when you need big papa lion to protect you? Right here.

Sometimes I don't get all the respect I deserve. Like those ratty ass pigeons? I can hear them talking shit. Chubby little fucks, squatting around and eating crap off the ground. They got a lot to learn, a lot to figure out about life. There's an order, there's a reason they made me out of immortal stone. You don't respect that order, you don't acknowledge your betters than you end up fat and feathered and waddling around on the ground.

Check it out, pigeons. You take a dump on me one more time and I'm gonna jump off this pedestal and start using teeth. Make a fucking omelette out of you motherfuckers.

See them humans? They know how it rolls around here and look at what they got. They got all this technology and nice clothes and shit. They build rooms that give them food whenever they want, they got it all figured out. They know they owe it all to me and they recognize that. Their kids are annoying, and whenever one of them jumps in the fountain I feel this weird desire to rip them to shreds...but otherwise they alright.

Yeah, I got nothing to complain about. Look at this palatial estate I got. It's fuckin' beautiful and ever since they cleared out the crackheads it's been nothing but easy times. I mean, sometimes I miss the addicts. Hardly anyone ever talks to me now that they're gone, but you know, you gotta take the bad with the good. That's what I always say. Wait, what?

I don't even exist?

Man, fuck you.

Letter from an Astrosociologist

Colleagues,

Since our last review of the outer Orion arm two hundred cycles ago there has been an astounding rash of development. This portion of the galaxus is now host to three crossover civilizations, one of which will near the Tellen-Hatch terminus spiral within the next fifty cycles. While such growth is certainly not impossible, it is certainly unprecedented given the limited resources of the region, and has not occured in recorded history for nearly five thousand cycles. We would be wise to suspect and test for outside cultural contamination on these planets. What may appear to be cleverness may be merely be illegal meddling from some of the looser beings in our galactocracy.

I also cannot suggest harshly enough the erection of a darkspace bubble around this area of space. Interstellar traffic must be re-routed until these civilizations begin to show progress towards crossover or terminus. The Earthlings in particular are intensely curious about the existence of life outside of their sphere, and we cannot risk even an accidental meeting.

Somewhat poetically, this region of space is now a good deal noisier than it was when we last surveyed it. In a way it makes one feel paternal towards these civilizations, as if they were recently hatched young only just beginning to learn how to speak. All three civilizations in the Orion are broadcasting, although none of them have been doing so for more than eighty cycles. The Earthling and Folan signals are only just beginning to mix, and neither will receive a clear transmission from the other for at least ninety more cycles.

The Earthlings, the most fascinating of the three, may not have that long. As I mentioned earlier in this preliminary report, they are growing the quickest and are therefore in sight of the terminus spiral - the event horizon where a worldly civilization begins perpetual decline. A cloaked study of their history in the past two hundred cycles is a disturbing read, even among those of us who have been attending to pre-crossover civilizations for hundreds and hundreds of cycles.

In the past one hundred cycles the Earthlings have made bafflingly huge leaps in technology, going from heavy-industrial to post-atomic. In only one hundred cycles. It is miraculous that they have not yet destroyed themselves. It is this very miracle that keeps me from placing them in the terminus spiral already. A race this ingenious might yet be able to devise a way out of their own mess. As you know, fellow colleagues, such a reversal is so dramatic and rare that it has only occured eight times in recorded galactic history.

Their population has exploded exponentially along with their technological gains, though it is slowing and their planet will be able to sustain them for at least another one hundred and fifty cycles. There are numerous signs that correlate with other civilizations that fell victim to the terminus spiral: lowering standards of living combined with poisoning of their biosphere. They are in the beginning throes of a worldwide climate change that their industry has caused, but there are signs that life on this planet has survived much worse and the Earthling civilization has sufficient resources with which to adapt to and weather the climatological shift.

In contrast, the two other civilizations in the outer Orion arm: the Folans and Hyu, are progressing at a snails pace. The Hyu have the advantage of a single faith that dominates their sphere, maintaining a relative ease in the lives and regulating growth to a smooth climb. Provided they do not become a warring species, they may very well be the first civilization in this section to make it to successful crossover.

The Folans are a predominantly bio-technology based civilization that are currently going through their second mechanical abberation, which in itself is somewhat unusual. Up to this point, their progress has been slow and relatively benign. Violence between castes is common on this world, but the respect for their planet is deep, and as such they have little thought for what is beyond it. It is unknown whether their shift into mostly mechanical tech will change this.

This concludes my preliminary report on the outer Orion survey. Enclosed are a bevy of orders, detailed civilizational information, and suggestions for the follow-up teams.

Cordially,
Whenx Ourl J, III Class Socion

Letter from a Drunk

There are so many good reasons why I drink, but really they all add up towards, like the lines in that Atari insignia, you know? They all swooped from this broad plain up into a single point? Anyway, it's like that, all the reasons why I drink add up to this one thing. This one thing, it's so big I'm going to capitalize it: Unhappiness.

But here's all the little reasons, and they my friend are numerous. Legion. Phalanx. That's another thing. When you've been drinking it unlocks all this vocabulary that you threw out a long time ago, like when you graduated high school. It's like...words that are still lying in the corner of the front porch of your mind, behind that rusted train wheel you found in the woods and the old refridgerator door that you swear would make an awesome sled and yet you've let three winters go by without testing that claim. You're such a jerk.

Yeah, "phalanx". Total comic book word, don't get me wrong. Total "I'm going to use this motherfucking English degree for something goddammit" word. And don't tell me to stop swearing! Most beautiful, colorful metaphors in the world, those curses. There's a reason they exist. Honestly! I mean, honestly! I mean...FUCK. HONESTY. That's why they exist. They're honest. And sometimes, like when we're drunk, we let all that honesty out and it's beautiful at the time.

I am making a conscious effort to get my its and it's right, along with my theirs, there's, and they're's. I don't think that last one is supposed to be plural, but whatever.

What was I saying? Oh. OH. It's like this. You get to use these words and not feel embarassed about them, so then you do other things that make you feel good that you would usually be embarrased about but...in the floaty, buzzy world of the drink...feel like a hilarious thing that people should do more often, cuz it's hilarious!

Let me show you what I mean. I was out with friends tongiht and I had a few and after a few I started really wanting to make out with my friend's girlfriend and THIS IS WRONG but it was nice to entertain the thought more freely, I guess. And also she was totally stretching her leg out towards me all night, like she wanted it. Kind of annoying. STOP TESTING ME WOMAN.

A word of advice: Don't choose a tipsy, wobbly stool before sitting down to drink. It gets confusing.

So, perhaps I'm a few drinks in and everything really is getting funnier because even though you try to keep a lid on yourself, on your animus...that's another spelling bee word right there...maybe that's why metal bands use those kinds of words all the time and pretend they're smart? Because they're stupid drunks with bad hair?

I AM OFF THE POINT. I'll just get straight to blowing your mind with the big realization. Getting drunk detaches you from time. I have deduced this from the growing mountain of evidence, so listen up. It begins with the tipsy, floating feeling, right? You're detached and now you're drifting upwards, because the more you're drinking, the more you're peeing, and the less you're weighing, and if Janice doesn't stop sticking her leg over to my end of the table I am seriously going to do something that Darren is gonna hate me forever for. Fucking Darren. It's not my fault he has the hottest girl in town as his mate.

So you're floating, right? And what comes next is the prompting of your actions dictated on their immediate consequences, rather than their long-term consequences. Tomorrow has faded, yesterday has become a sadness that has been shed, whose only use is as fuel for jokes. Time. A devilish invention that defies thermodynamic laws (sort of) and actually goes faster as it depletes. It becomes unshackled from you and leaves you free to expose the active inner part of yourself to everyone. Your shell cracks open and oozes forth a spring blossom, still wet from the process of birth, but fresh and untainted. To use a more Bukowski-like metaphor: Alcohol unclenches your creative bowels in a marvelous fashion.

That said, I'm really sorry about what I did to your couch. I can't believe I thought that was a good idea.

Letter from A Postal Worker

(To be released in Real Live Book form soon.)