Every Friday I send out a real love letter that I’ve transcribed from a stack I bought at the flea market (until they run out — and we’re getting closer all the time). Missed one? Check the chronological list.
November 2, 1961 (still 20 days)
Say, you didn’t tell me whether or not you can obtain access to a tape recorder and if so, under what degree of privacy.
Bow chicka bow bow.
Aside from my motive for wanting to know the above, a tape may also accompany my treatise on the rogue urinals in the dorm.
This will not be the last time we think of mens private parts in this letter. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
My psychology instructor should have stayed home. It would have done him good. The poor tired boy looks like he needs rest. Much rest — for the rest of the semester! (rotten pun!)
You said it.
But I feel rotten.
What a shock.
Last night my amplifier developed a low frequency oscillation (a series of regular thumps), which I am at a loss to explain. That, combined with a lack of sleep, low spirits, and frustration in my dreams all go toward creating a rotten disposition.
This is the second time he’s mentioned being frustrated in his dreams!
There’s a break here and now he’s speaking as though something/one else has taken over the letter writing:
This is the brains of the outfit. All the time, all I do is get pushed around, dropped on the floor and half drowned at least once a day. That I’m only 6 inches long (actually 5.6 inches when working, 5.3 when not, 6 when full extended) and the guy who outweighs me by an astronomical amount gives me a hard time of it.
Who/what exactly is he talking about? And, am I just a pervert from the future for being confused and assuming that this is either our first truly dirty letter or just a really complicated double entendre?
Tonight, I will make myself heard. Due to my influence, he fixed his amplifier. Actually, it wasn’t broken. There wasn’t anything wrong with it. The trouble lay in the speaker connections, which I knew all along. Regenerative feedback through the output transformer [this part is somewhat illegible so my apologies if this is wrong/I misread] and secondary winding to the push-pull drivers was causing all the trouble.
Truly, it would be JUST LIKE Russ to interrupt a naughty letter with a dull aside about speaker cables.
And if he’d just asked me, I’d have told him. But he didn’t. I just couldn’t take the mood the whole thing put him in anymore because then I suffer, so I provided the guidance he needed and everything is alright now, as far as the Hi-Fi system is concerned that is.
He's still kind of sad and bleu and he looks sort of disconsolate. I’ve never paid too much attention, but you seem to be the thing or person he needs. I’m afraid you’re the only one that can give him the thing he needs.
This is making me so uncomfortable. When did I become so puritanical?
I’ve tried everything, but it’s beyond my capabilities.
👀
Apparently you have something special. That unique, endearing quality as he would say, which makes you you. It’s not available from anywhere else. The music is beautiful and the night, except for the rain, is balmy. And I think the rain has stopped now. It lacks only you. Perfection is a hard thing to get, but you could supply it. And I hope you do so, as soon as possible, for my sake as well as his.
FOR WHO’S SAKE?
Physically, a fountain pen doesn’t amount to much, but I am a mental giant, and I know what’s best for everyone concerned. You’ve got to make things all better for us all. He thinks about you all the time and from a careful study of what he thinks and feels, I can feel myself a little what he loves in you, and I can sympathize with him because you’re so far away. Now, he wants to talk to you. So I’ll sign off.
Hopefully and fondly, a poor fountain Pen
PS. Why don’t you introduce me to Beau-Beau. She and I seem to have some common ground on our positions — sort of living off the fat of the land and doing very little work.
I don’t know who Beau-Beau is but I’m gonna assume it’s Karen’s fountain pen.
I’ll have to sign off, too, darling, as sleep calls. Meanwhile, sleep tight, sweet dreams and take real good care of yourself. I miss you so much and…
Love and kis always,
Tiger.
That was harrowing to be honest. Be honest, what did you think the 6-inch object was? COME ON NOW.
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