A fan letter
Dear Bukoswki, I know you’re dead. It’s okay, so many people are dead: my father is dead, my grandma is dead, my uncle-in-law is dead. Even Lemmy is dead! I’ll be dead in 60 years, at most. But still, it doesn’t matter. I’ve read all your novels and stories, many of your poems, and I’ve even listened to your readings. That’s why I wanted to write to you: I take you as a friend. Excuse my English; I’m not a native speaker. I use technology to help, but I still make mistakes. I’m working on it, but the problem is that I don’t have any native-speaker friends—well, I don’t have that many friends in general. The ones I do have, I talk to seldom, and their English is even worse than mine. But dead people don’t mind grammar mistakes, right? Anyhow, I’m writing this letter to ask for some advice. I’m feeling confused, Charles. I don’t know what the hell is going on with me—or with the world itself. I don’t have any answers, and probably not even the right questions, but with all your wisd...
