[untitled]

Dear Mr. Reed,

 

I'm writing you this letter in admiration upon listening to Hanging Round on your LP Transformer.  I found this song very moving.  Given that I have believed your voice since I wee lad growing up in Brixton, learning the fine art of rock & roll, I have come to believe you are the voice of my generation.  We Mr. Reed, are a very lost, even worse off than the youth of 1976, who burgeoned to create the "Punk" generation.  We, have nothing more, than children who practice the art of apathy, are spirtual to the mini-mall churches, and believe that the more clothes you wear, the more you hold in your soul.

 

I'd like it if you came to my school and explained to them the days of Velvet U, and how much enlightenment you created within the confines of a safe environment.  It would do me a great service to listen to your wisdom over tea.  I'd like to know of some of the books that helped you along the journey of your life.  Things that make you feel human. 

 

Your friend, sincerely, and with warmest regards,

S. Gros

 

 

PS: We do Not Believe, the corruptability, of todays marketable youth.

 

 

I'd like to feel honest in thinking that i'd mail it that very day.  I couldn't come to the conclusion of whether or not I should, some itching feeling inside made me feel as if I did, I'd get nothing but rejection.  He was an icon, icons have better things to do like host televised showings of their homes on MTV, and creating playlists for KROQ to supplement their royalty checks.

 

My heart beats rapidly just thinking I had the balls to even write it.  Most I knew, just make up s**t, like, "My mom knows a guy of a guy who knows Carson Daly"

I'd always internalize, 'so f*****g what?' 

 

I cried on the phone today to my mother, because it was tearing me apart.

 

'You make this all go away.'

 

I don't understand?

 

'It's a lyric'

 

To what?

'To your answer'

 

 

It's raining too much in my mind.