September 24, 2001
My dearest friends,
It is my hope that this letter finds you in spirits as good as mine. Autumn
has come to Austin, bringing with it memories of the west. The coolness, the
crispness of the air shall forever be linked in my mind to the high-spirited
rovings of my youth, to a fresh, unquenchable optimism. How this gentle
weather rekindles a longing for my homeland!
Indeed, man's longing for youth grows in severity and desperation
proportionate to his age, and how my soul has been weathered by the ravages
of time! Any strength I might derive from the gentle relief of this new
season is tainted jointly by the woes of the marketplace and our
countrymen's thirst for war. In the wake of such bitter realities
forebearance falls from heroism, becoming a daily chore, and bright-eyed
hope fades, leaving only wistful solace. You need find no cause for alarm in
the spartan pragmatism of my words -- grand empires may be born in hope, but
they are nurtured to greatness through the unromantic toils of necessity.
Unromantic is my lot in life indeed, as I coldly regard my fortunes, and my
gaze falls ever more heavily upon the shadier of Internet endeavors. Yes, it
is with no great joy that I give consideration to peddling lascivious
imagery to the saddened and depraved, but nor is it with any great regret.
Amoral though such trades may be, I can find no immorality embodied
therein -- and indeed, these are practical times. One must wonder then: if I
can so easily dismiss social reservations, then why do I still hesitate?
In any event, my spirits remain high, if tempered somewhat by dull care. It
would be my hope that these words serve not to disparage your own spirits,
but rather to affirm my heartfelt desire to return to a beloved San
Francisco -- my city of perpetual autumn. Until such time, know that you
live on in my sweetest memories and happiest dreams.