My dear, Gentle. All moving together with one clear, singing, voice. As the wind hits our trees, shakes our roots, we would tremble in understanding that these branches, connect us all. One day after the passing of all our egos, we will know this land’s compassion again. But, it will be a long time from now. Falsely yours, Robert...

My dear, There is no changing of the seasons in the electric city, and no real darkness. The street is illuminated all night with orange light. And the concrete is like a carpet. We have dreamed the street as a room and it has become true. There is no indoors or outdoors anymore. Falsely yours, Robert...

My dear, I sit here, looking at the sun, through this hotel’s window. But, I don’t see the sun. I don’t see light. And I don’t see science. I see an angel. Whenever you see the sun reflected in the window of a building it is an angel. Falsely yours, Robert...

My dear, The flood will lift the ghosts from the Hollywood lawn cemetery and they will disappear like ether in the new dead air. All the names will be erased from the billboards and the theatres and the piers and the magazines and the monuments. You live by myths of immortality, and your myths are not safe. Falsely yours, Robert...

My dear, The people you love, truly love, are never far away from you. You keep them with you, inside you. And when they die, they become ghosts. The people you love become ghosts inside you, and like this you keep them alive. The people you love, truly love, never die. Falsely yours, Robert...