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If you want to talk about Neal why do you do it--you stopped me before I had a chance to continue, stop won't you!

Listen, I'm going to  tell  you--read well: you have to take care of yourself, hear it?--give me a chance -- you think  I've no art  me French?

--eh?--idiot-crapule-piece of shit-sonofabitch--bastard--pig-clown-shitmouth-longmouth-ugly face,shitpants, piece of shit,sucktoungue, big fool, wantashit pants,  thats worse-right in the face!--hit it! (frappe) -eat it!-fuck!-scram me Gavin!

-swallow Celine,  eat  him raw  your Genet,  Rabelais?  He woulda wiped your neck on his ass.  But enough, its not interesting. Its not interesting goddamn  French.

Listen, Neal is full of shit; let him go; he is your friend, let him  dream; he's not your brother, he's not your father, he's not your Saint Michael, he's a guy, he's married,  he works,  go sleeping on the other side of the world, go thinking  in the Great European night.

I'm explaining him  to you,  my way,  not yours, child, dog--listen--go find  your soul , go  smell  the wind-go far

Life is a pity.

Close the book, go on--write no  more on the  wall, on the moon,  at the dog's,  in the sea in the snowing  bottom,  a little poem.

Go find God in the nights.  The clouds too. When can it stop this big tour at the skull of Neal; there are men, things outside to do, great huge tombs of activity  in the desert of Africa of the heart,  the black angels, the women in bed with the beautiful open arms open for you in their youth, some tenderness shrouded in the same bed,  the big clouds of new continents, the foot tired  in climes so mysterious, don't go down the hill of the other side of your life for nothing.

A true real American is a mystery to us, to U.S., somewhere and somehow he became like Neal and stands here among us.  In my romance I have traveled far to find a cousin to the Greek.  And in my romance I have traveled far to see an American, one that reminded me of the Civil  War soldier in the old photo who stands by a pile of lumber in a drizzle , waiting for arrest, backgrounded by pine brush bottoms all wet and dismal in an Alabama afternoon in the wilderness of hoar.

                 -jack