meanwhile Postoffice has found out I do this weekly column “Notes of a Dirty Old Man” for the local underground paper Open City and they look upon it most darkly, they seem to think that some of the work is dirty and really not up to what a postal clerk should be doing in his spare time. I have had 2 long interviews with the big boys in long dark rooms and we have sparred back and forth, quietly, neither side giving ground. but, meanwhile, I am still employed and I still continue to write the column. which some smut peddler in North Hollywood wants to put out in book form but I just can’t seem to get out to see him—although Bryan says he is good for $1,000 advance, I am still FROZEN. I get smut-peddlar on phone, we talk, I say, “soon soon,” and he says, “fine, fine,” but I just can’t seem to get out there. really FROZEN, Carl. can you understand? it’s crazy. people want to do good by me and I won’t let them. I guess I’m just tired. too much going on. and I look down at floor as I type this to you and here is this package, still there, looking up at me with its eyeless face, waiting to be mailed to England. ah, England, my England! oh yes, and PENGUIN wants to send me advance royalty check on the Lamantia-Norse-Bukowski thing but they also send these papers that must be filled out FIRST, something about the United Kingdom, I must declare that I am not a member of the United Kingdom or something, 2 or 3 pages, horrible, I can’t get a pen to damned page, and when I do I have to find a Notary Public, some dame will hike her skirt and I will get a hard-on and she will charge me $5 and place a red seal upon the last page of the blue paper if I EVER FILL IT OUT! paper, papers, I’ve lost my social security card, can’t get my new registration card into folder on steering wheel of my 57 Plymouth, have lost my state income tax card, new papers to be filled out for govt. partly-sponsored life insurance on job they are trying to kick me out of, 8 or 10 pages, the landlady wants to come in here and put up new curtains, I say, “wait, wait, there are dead bodies in there, I don’t want you to see all the dead bodies.” she laughs, but even she and her husband fuck me up; I just about get straight and she comes on down here and knocks on the door and gets me to come down and they both get me drunk, we sit up all nights singing very silly songs, and I can’t get anywhere. [* * *]

Statement was a pamphlet / manifesto by Robert Kelly, published by Black Sparrow Press in April, 1968.

[To John Martin]

Monday in [April?] 1968