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Thursday, November 24, 2011


I have no idea who this letter was sent to or if it was sent at all. I imagine it never was and a good thing given how much I ramble.

By “finished a play” I mean closed a production where I was an extra. My part evolved to become the angel of death, because I came to put death masks on everyone.

I have no less than thirty eight documents from nineteen ninety five to go through now and most look like they should be posted.

That is more remembering who I was than anyone can be comfortable with, but I will press on.

26th March 1995

Dear Veronica,
I just finished a play called "The Language of Flowers". It was tiring, but it was worth it. My grades Suffered a bit but you know how it is. I still haven't gotten in to TV that is what I wish I was doing. There is more money in TV. I got in touch with an actor friend of mine. He said that I can be represented, but at he had lost the agents number.
The room of my dwelling is too small for a 15 year old. All I can think of some times is a bigger room. I have a dream a two story house and neighbors that live 1\4 mile from the place. It’s too much to ask for at this age, but a man can dream can't he.

To dream
a warm embrace in the night
that you wish would never end
if it is humble
or impossible
it is still a sliver of heaven
not easily left in the dust
of the human mind
like an echo
it returns
to hold the mind prisoner
for another time
I apologize for the bad poetry it just gets in my blood that's all. Never been very good at it, but I will get better with practice. Sometimes I get some words in my skull and they stick there like I need to use them. It’s not a crime to be bad at something; it’s just a burden we must endure.
In good health,

R.L. Neal