Dear You, or Belulino,
This is your Postcard Time Capsule/Instructions For Not Being Like Daddy
Remember that food is a toy and should always be used in the service of games like the red candles they melted onto the back of Gouda cheese. And trees are big ladders that you should always climb to be in the sky even when you’re giant and fat. Always keep your hair on your head and never on your face so you don’t scratch your kids when you come home late from work and sneak into their rooms to kiss them goodnight. Remember that boring things are secretly fun if you’re not worried about being called immature. Dragons are as real as anything you can remember that you will probably never see again like grandma. Don’t ever tell lies (unless it’s to keep a surprise) because the truth will escape through your nose when you’re sleeping and that’s how snoring happens. When you become a driver and start yelling at other cars remember how you used to lay down in the back seat and turn off all the noise by playing hopscotch with imaginary lines through the stars. Serious things are always funny if you remember how small you are. Remember that beds are fortresses in disguise and suits and ties look sillier than capes and underwear over tights. Every breath has the potential to blow a bubble or balloon. Even if they tell you you can’t be an astronaut because you wear glasses and NASA is discontinuing the space program you can still flap out your arms and jump on your bed and sing about your rocket ship. Remember to always listen to your children and never tell them to go to bed because they were playing with food so that they could try and remind you that you are not so big even if you’re fat and that when you squint really hard you can see that all big things are secretly made up of very little things and that the sun has a smiley face on it and that when the beef is burnt it’s better to play catch with it than to yell at Mommy. Remember I’ll always be you even if you don’t always remember.
Yours,
Django Fontina
Dear Django,
I went out on a limb and read portions of this postcard to The Russian. Miraculous! He is laughing and smiling in appreciation. It is a miracle because although this man calls himself a member of the Russian intelligentsia and hales from St. Petersburg, which St. Petersburgians (and others less biased) would claim to be THE culture capital of Russia, The Russian, a Technician, disdains virtually all things cultural, including fiction, poetry, the visual and performing arts, etc. Although…..music is a different story. Metallica, Rammstein, and Tom Waits are on the approved list.
In the world of non-musical recording arts, though, please know that it is a compliment of the highest order to wring a bit of praise for a piece of writing from this man! I took a serious scarey chance sharing this postcard. Though he has heard me sing your praises in the past, I did not want to sully my own baskful glowing in your words with a harsh word from the Peanut Gallery cast over your writing. But the moon is full, we have just come back from a rare cultural outing to see an aerialist group’s theatrical presentation of Hittite myth, he’s had a couple beers, and since he is not full-on hating on the aerialists, and the echo of ancient archetype in the spring-warm moony evening seems to be inclining him to meditate a bit more softly on the incalculable, I thought….hmmm…..NOW!
Victory! Another fan is born…..
your first admirer under this roof,
e
ps. Hooray for the “subscription” djangofontina.wordpress.com updates to email. I don’t know how I missed signing up for that before….. happy writing, Django!
aw jeez, make that “hails”
amazing. definitely one of my favorites. thank you.