Dear WWW,
Doctress Neutopia and I share something extremely rare, practically never
found. The pity of it all is, that it exists anywhere in anyone at all.
Withal, your kind solicitation or summons to "wait upon the theorists
of the Outer World by this great lady of the Inner Chambers shall be
much appreciated, framed even, when once her grief anent her patriarch's
passing is abated; alack, Big Daddy is no more; and his sawmill strips its
gears in anguish. Nobly-descended mother did depend on the late paterfamilias
for the grosser material things in life; for ever since the War Twixt the
States and, perhaps, since civil disobedience in Yankeeland against the
Fugitive Slave Law, she's despaired of return of her property, first her
People, then the Vast Estates. What if the atmosphere of Greensboro, North
Helms, stinketh the stench of cigarette factories; Neutopia herself smoketh
not, chastising those like me who do, hence are dying. For unto her is
vouchsafed Immortal Life, procees for support whereof cometh one way or
the other from the Broad Masses of Afro-American tobacco-leaf stashers,
remunerated at minimalistic wage or less, in cross-the-state-line Pittsylvania
County, Virginia. Which I remember well for its jails & prisons, wherein I
spent many a hapless hour in Summer '63, charged with highly imaginative,
fictitious, and creatively-fingerpainted crimes showing artistic gift of
sorts.
Daniel A. Foss