Dear commune:
You boys is ate up. I read your shit all the time 'cause I know it's know or be knowed in this universe. You know?
My favorite parts is the music reviews where you tell it like it is. Whitney Houston ain't released a good album since before the motorcycle accident in '66. She can still rock okay, but she'll never top her glory days of the Synchronicity Tour. Fuckin A.
I have a problem with your shit, though. Where's the horoscopes? I think there should be horoscopes. If there's one thing I hate it's having no one to blame for my shitty life.
Well, I gotta go. The warden's calling lights out. That guy's a big prick. He says he knows nothin bout all the raping but he's right there watching it. Man, do you get raped in prison.
Speaking of which, here comes Big Henry Brown. I'll see you later. Keep writin and I'll keep reading! Damn!
R.P. McDaniels
Scales, AL
Dear commune:
I just don't feel like this is going to work out. I'm sorry to break it to you like this, but I knew if I give myself the chance to back out I'd take it. Because there's still something there. But I can't let that get in the way, I know it's over. I need to make a clean break.
It's not you. You're great. It's me. I'm the kind of person who needs structure. The kind I need is the kind you can't provide. But I can't ask you to change-that wouldn't be fair to you. And all those things that are the problem now are what made me love you in the first place.
I can't tell you any more, I'm starting to tear up. Don't try to contact me, it'll make things harder. If you need to, give all my CDs and clothes to Rick. I'll be staying at his place.
Don't ever change. You'll always be the one I left.
Love,
Vicki KoslowskiDear Vicki:
We should note to you that the commune is a website. We aim to provide the finest source of alternative news and counter-culture points of view, as well as topical commentary of unpopular opinions. This is not the first time this mistake has been made by readers; we seek to help make this distinction clearer in the future.
We also wish to add: You're afraid of commitment. Don't bullshit us. It isn't us, no fuck, we know that. We treat you like a queen and it's never good enough. Fuck this insane bullshit. You're afraid to be loved. You won't let us get close. Your dad left your mother and she left her next two husbands. It's the only kind of love you know. You need to trust someone and believe they love you. But that isn't going to be us. We can't wait all our lives for you to "decide" we're good for you. We hope you find that love, but not with us, sister.
We can't pretend not to be hurt. You're goddamn right it's painful. We loved you like you'll never fucking know. We're trying to be nice about it, but there is some part of us that hopes you'll fucking choke to death.
the commune
Dear commune:
The jackals of society are feasting upon our souls right now. The commercialization of each and every individual at the hands of the corporate phantoms is not a vicious torture like electric current applied to the genitals. It is in fact the slow bleeding of society's humanity, a stealing of essence so subtle as to be hardly noticeable. But I notice. And I react.
It is my mission to reveal the horrible robbery of our spirit as a nation to the hypnotized masses. I've tried in the past to inform the public of this nightmare, but they are distracted by the Baywatches and Urkels of the world. The airwaves are filled with tripe meant to keep them occupied and not notice the hands in their pockets and the fangs in their arteries. So I'm afraid I must resort to more violent means.
Intelligent information doesn't hold attention alone. Nor do heartfelt please; so now I am forced to grab attention through violence.
I will continue to present my manifestos to such outlets as the commune, that are truly hard-up for news and filler space that letters can provide. If the commune refuses to print any further chapters in my manifesto, I will thoroughly BEAT UP A HOBO for every week my manifesto is unread. I do not seek to cause pain. I do not like violence. It is my only outlet in a world controlled by power brokers and corporate monsters.
Nor do I hate hobos. I feel they are the scuzzy bloodline of America. But my ends will justify these means. I mean to return America to its glory days. Also, hobos are much easier to find unarmed and asleep, making for easy victims. I am not a large man. Again, nothing personal, hobos.
Heed my warning, America! Your hobos are at stake!
The Hobobeater
Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for the content of letters or opinions expressed therein. The wacky inbred illiterate fringes of society are responsible, though we have to admit some part in calling our readers "wacky inbred illiterate fringes of society." Let's just call the whole thing even, 'kay?º
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