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Dead Elvis
Dear Dead Elvis,

My ego hurts. It really does. No one can see me. I'm always going to be alone--just a bag lady on the streets--ugly, unloved, maybe pitied. I want to go back to the hospital, my only home here on earth. I don't belong here, no one can see me... 

Even you see only Dorothy--not me. I see everyone! 

I know I'm jealous and hurtful, but what can I do about it? 

I'm a Pisces--the most romantic sign in the zodiac, especially for a woman, and even for a witch. I'm at least 60 times more romantic than Princess Diana, but, it's true, I'm also agressive--at least 160 times more agressive than Mother Teresa (Who knows...she's a Pisces, too. But at least she's married, now.) 

I don't know what to do. Maybe the only person on the planet who can see me is M. ...but she's not here anymore. I'm all alone. Just one raw nerve in the universe... 

I'm not even a very good writer, although I think you are...but then, people see you all the time. It helps, I suppose...  

Miserably yours,
Wicked Witch of the West


Dear Dead Dorothy,

When ya talk to the ol' WWW next give her a message for me.

The stars when viewed from the earth have the illusion of hanging around together in the sky like a bunch of buddies on the street corner downtown in the 50s -- yuking it up and having a good ol' time palling around on Saturday night.

The stars have a very different experience of it. Alone and isolated from the nearest "other" by light years of empty space I think the stars would take exception if you referred to them as palling around with their buds up there in the sky.

All this by way of saying aloneness is a fundamental problem of creation. Pinch off a lump of cosmic consciousness and mold it into a bit of creation and whoop-ding you have a piece of aloneness. The only question is: "is that aloneness buried head deep in blankets of forgetful sleep, or is that aloneness awake and aware of its condition."

I've heard rumors that one can't change what is but one can learn to like it.

Now that's a happy thought.

Signed,
Your Pal Dead Elvis.
 



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