In our last correspondence
You asked me “what I think”
Of what? Of everything
Of the assorted unfortunate occurrences
That led me to this predicament.
Looking upon the slobbering jaws of death with ease
I suppose you wanted to know
What was going through my mind.
“What do you think?” you asked.
“I don’t,” I replied.
But I have thought much since then
And so I choose to write to you again.
I think little of anybody and much of nobodies
I think thoughts over and over again
And curse myself for thinking what’s been thought before.
I think there’s no one to blame for the “situation,”
As you put it,
That’s befallen me.
But underneath all of that
I think it’s my own damn fault
That I’m still here.
I find places fascinating and people more so
I find myself in different places each and every day
I have never found myself in another person.
They baffle and bewitch me
And I love them for what they are
And I hate them for what they’re not
Systems of tissues strung together with
Sinew that breaks and binds and pulls them into different shapes
Distant from gods and monsters as they are
Close to puppets on strings
As all animals are
Not twisted universally, but personally
I see no difference between the twisting vines and trees
I cannot count myself among them.
Last week’s events remind me of this.
I woke up on Tuesday and the sunlight fell across my face
It did not blind me, it was gentle
It was what woke me
It had alighted on the walls, the sheets, my body tangled up within them
I hated it and wished it would go away.
I wanted to write to you, to ask you if you had ever hated this way before
Then I remembered you’ve never hated anything
(Not even me)
Then I remembered you’ve never felt anything
And I wished to be you.
You know I chose my own name for a reason
But I never told you what that reason is.
“Lazarus” because I’ve died and been revived
And because I will someday die again.
Maybe not soon but you will do me in eventually
And when you do you will know who I was
And why I was him
And why I couldn’t be who you wanted me to be.
You might think it means something that I’m telling you this
Now, after everything that’s happened
But I beg you to believe me that it’s meaningless
There’s a rhyme and reason in this
Because you know I hate to repeat myself
And I knew you would want me to say something to you
And I feel as if I’ve already said everything else.
Perhaps there is nothing else to say.
If nothing else, I will see you soon
And then I will not see you at all
Or anything, or anyone.
Please don’t forget me.
Please let me go.
— A condemned man who loves you terribly