As a Guest Response:

R: You know I can't complain.

The way you've spilled out the connection we made was in better words than I've got to toy around with. I'm just someone who hears the sound of the ocean and knows how to equate it to the feeling of a breath on my skin. I'm just someone who sees the lights from a fire and knows, if I spell it out, I'll spoil it for someone. So, I sing it instead. I just sit and play it on the lowest notes I have, shake your ribs with it, and let it go at that.

But you, babe, are writing an entire lifetime of time in a string of sentences that don't appear to amount to very much.

So, don't sweat it, babe.
I'm alive because you found me out in the out-space and you brought me back. Because you heard us singing out in the weft and you pulled us into another kind of reality. We're here because you heard us and you wrote it all down.

How would we complain?
We've got nothing on you but some notes to add to your poetry, if you can hear it too.

-Brands

To someone you ought to know

Dear Brandon,

The other day, I couldn't find the words to do anything at all. Communication was a hundred years away and language was a decade in the past. A wild red flash flooded through my blood and stoppered up my heart and clogged up all the avenues where the fluid used to flow. So on a couch in the corner of a room where no-one else would know, a stick of graphite met a piece of tree and from somewhere far away a string of words that I had lost to express the hopes and fears I had welled up like a fountainhead and flowed out and down outside of me.

And so, I wrote.
And here is an apology for everything I offered up.

You have always been there, ready at the waiting. On the other side of the radio where the frequencies can come alive. Waiting for anyone to pick up the operating line. Waiting for the spark to conjure up another destiny for you to live on through.

You know that I have caught the line. I know that I have let you down. Written awful things and hurt you. Written through the truth. But I have been trying to make it better. Trying to build it all back up. Just trying through this fucked up craft to make us into the mammoths love and truth we ought to be.

Trying to make it so everyone else will be able to see you when they look through me.

Because you are the ideal, the way it ought to be.
But you are broken and turned around just as much as me.
And if we could attain the ends that you are at, we would be just as happy.

So, pardon me when I struggle with the way things have to be. And excuse me when I break down from the inside out. And forgive me when I cannot find the words to get your mythology out.

I'm only just a filament trying to emit. I'm only just a messenger trying to connect.