It would be quite a relief to rid my system of fustian this year.
It is in danger of destroying my possible future as a young poet, private scholar, and unaffected person.
My personal instability and too much emotion will ever be plainly marked in every stroke of the pen, quite unfortunately. Your humorous, excitable, beautiful faces, I can assure you, are suspended before me as perfectly as if they were on delightful strings from the ceiling!
We are both in very satisfactory health, Bessie sweetheart.
Would to God that you, my acknowledged loved ones, would cease and cut out thinking of her in your minds as a fuddy duddy. In her disarming, modest way, that little bit of a woman has quite a lot of the simplicity and dear fortitude of an unrecorded heroine of the Civil or Crimean War, perhaps the most moving wars of the last few centuries.
Also frankly, while my penmanship will improve a little as I grow older, looking less and less like the expression of a demented person, it is mostly beyond redemption. Pale sunshine is streaming through a very pleasing, filthy window as lie forcibly abed here.She is not even a librarian at heart, unfortunately.At all events, please offer her any generous specimen of this letter that does not look too personal or vulgar to you, prevailing upon her at the same time not to pass too heavy judgment on my penmanship again.While bearing in mind that my loss of you is very acute today, hardly bearable in the last analysis, I am also snatching this stunning opportunity to use my new and entirely trivial mastery of written construction and decent sentence formation as explained and slightly enriched upon in that small book, alternately priceless and sheer crap, which you saw me poring over to excess during the difficult days prior to our departure for this place.Though this is quite a terrible bore for you, dear Bessie and Les, superb or suitable construction of sentences holds some passing, amusing importance for a young fool like myself!SOME comment in advance, as plain and bare as I can make it: My name, first, is Buddy Glass, and for a good many years of my lifevery possibly, all forty-six I have felt myself installed, elaborately wired, and, occasionally, plugged in, for the purpose of shedding some light on the short, reticulate life and times of my late, eldest brother, Seymour Glass, who died, committed suicide, opted to discontinue living, back in 1948, when he was thirty-one.I intend, right now, probably on this same sheet of paper, to make a start at typing up an exact copy of a letter of Seymours that, until four hours ago, I had never read before in my life.It is entirely disgusting to be forever achieving little actions of the heart or body and then taking recourse to reaction.I am utterly convinced that if As hat blows off while he is sauntering down the street, it is the charming duty of B to pick it up and hand it to A without examining As face or combing it for gratitude!I beg you both, and perhaps Miss Overman, should you drop by at the library or run into her at your leisure, to please run a cold eye over all that follows and then notify me immediately if you uncover any glaring or merely sloppy errors in fundamental construction, grammar, punctuation, or excellent taste.Should you indeed run into Miss Overman quite by accident or design, please ask her to be merciless and deadly toward me in this little matter, assuring her amiably that I am sick to death of the wide gap of embarrassing differences, among other things, between my writing and speaking voices! Also please extend to that gracious, unsung woman my everlasting love and respect.