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Dear Allone,

Thank you for your comments. As a human body I appreciate your constantly reciprocating acknowledgement of my existence as one alongside yours and I kindly thank you for the sound advice you have given me over these most fruitful and dazzling years of my life. I guess we really are all one.

The concerns of my address today, though, sing a second song. I am retiring.

At this point it's pertinent to ask: exactly what am I retiring from? And in reply: paperwork. I am trading the good life of an artist for the ascetic one of a metasin man.

At this point it's pertinent to ask: but how does one become a metasin man? And in reply: practice, practice, practice. And that has been what my artist "practice" has been: practice for the final retreat of this body into the fold. I leave you with my surface sketches not so much as remnants of me, but as warnings to you. These are my cave paintings: my simple sacred rites.

What was once stardust and lollipops, moonshine and polliwogs has grown ever the more so: I want it all now. Looking out from these eyes I see an idealistic mission skewed into a saturated, systemic oblivion, the ever-ongoing lo-fi hum of great waves. I have been bitter when I should have been grateful, I am empty when I should be filled, I will no longer incite this human agenda.

Yet the letters line up and my script sticks so static. Word after word, inside this crumbling. I fear no one knows what I'm speaking anymore especially myself.

When forever I set off, when forever I look away, when forever I see everything: I am no good any more.

Peace in your endeavors,
Jonas Holdbeck