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September 5, 2006
September 2, 2005
August 28, 2005
Dear Ms. Dustmite,
Oh, the advancement in my knowledge of your habits...and your life span. I'm writing to about 1000 generations of yourself. It is most embarrassing,my past correspondence, in that you can not see this, having no eyes as you do. I hope you can sense my sencerity. I've suffered most personally in hopes of feeding your family. But that was then and this is with regard to staying in the "now."
Here in Dust mite haven, the safe house for your kind, I have gone out of my way in your honour. In that I espeacially try to NOT exfoliate, even though this puts me in error with my species. Imaging how proud you'd be if you knew of my sacrifice. I did it for you, and also because I am a filthy lazy slob, who sometimes goes haywire, like a curcit in H2O. By the way, what is your opinion of that? I mean water? I am thinking it would be ever so hard to learn to swim given all your legs and the coordination one would need to assume inorder to perfect the back stroke given your constrants.. And pardon me for metioning this, but you are more that heavy in your hiney. Perhaps you float. I do that too.
See, (whooops) how much we have in common, no matter how many grandparents I have thought as yourself until now. That you life is short and you die young, might be a blessing for you. As I look into the setting sun, which we won't go into now, I admire your dilligence and ability to get your business done with out allot of whining. Here in the Dust heaven I am hoping you are approving in the manner in which I handle my exfoliation of skin, like some would do, given my species. And this time, it is not with out your cut, my good young friend, Senora Dustmite...the day is young. (The night was yellow and the moon came halling in 'round Dust to Dust. You do not go unnoticed.
With your hostess of el mostest: I am your humble partner.
P.S. I just got over hip replacement surgery. hmmm. I notice you got a fat ass too, but no hips. That would be less expensive in the long run, as it were.
October 7, 2004
May 28, 2004
December 3, 2003
December 2, 2003
November 10, 2003
Dear Ms. Dustmite,
Another slow gray day in Austin brings memories of another time, another bug and a much more sinister situation. Although I hope not to offend you with this tale which includes great violence fostered on said insect, I know that the ascension up the ladder of the food chain, might actually make the story one uplifting to you, as I am guessing you would have no love lost for this creature.
It was many years ago, while attending the summer semester in the Art Department of the University of Texas, that I rode the elevator on a daily basis from the ground floor to the third floor for an afternoon "Life Drawing" class. The elevator there was neither small nor large, but did tend to breed familiarity in those left inside the confines of those closed doors as we ascended to the various levels. Art tends to attract many unique characters, needless to say, but one would have to travel far and wide to find someone quite in the range of both my Life Drawing instructor, and this particularly strange young individual whose ascension turned more dangerous than he'd expected.
Now, my summer drawing instructor was a famous curmudgeon with had been known to travel in the elevator with two leashed aggressive Dobermans (one was muzzled) with whom he and his dogs delighted in terrifying what unlucky student having the nerve to enter that elevator in their presence. Although if truth be told, he was frightening on his own (sans dogs); his glasses were thick as coke bottles and made his eyes look small and mean enough to belong to some small but vicious animal, and his teeth as well as his comments were pointed. To travel with him alone was the sort of ride to make any art student consider changing majors, or using the stairs.
But on one particular afternoon as I entered the enclosure, I noticed my only fellow traveler to be that strange young man , and only after the doors had closed, I saw he had balanced on his shoulder a "pet" tarantula. He had a cruel grin, as he noticed my discomfort, he began talking to the spider.
Not bring fond of spiders, as well as not being fond of assholes with tarantulas on their shoulders, I asked him what he was up to. He assured me he was cool and the tarantula was trained. As to the whys and where fores here, I was too shocked to seek assistance, and in too big of a hurry to protest but managed to ride with this fiend, in silence and anger for all three floors.
It was during the first break after the first hour of class that I approached the elevator again, and was both delighted and surprised to find that same young man knocked out-cold on the floor of the elevator with his pet tarantula smashed and quite dead yet still by his shoulder.. He continued to ride in that manner for at least the other ten minutes that it took me to visit my locker, and purchase a soft drink. As I again entered for my trip upward, I stared at him fondly, quite happy with this justice, and wondering of the mystery of his then situation as we rode once again to the third floor.Only that and nothing more.
As ever, Ms. Buena
November 10, 2003
November 8, 2003
November 7, 2003
November 6, 2003
Dear Mz. Dustmite,
Today we have what could be thought of as Winter in Austin. It is not really cold (in the 50's) but it is gray in every way. I write to inform you of this in that you are, I am sure, dumber than a donut, and also rarely leave the house. This is an attitude we both share. It is possible that we are still suffering from what could be medically diagnosed as depression, yet in your case it is difficult to tell. I am on to these symptoms as it is one of my favorite hobbies to read all I can about mental disorders (just in case I'm missing out on one), and not leaving one's house is one of the red flags of the trade. Now, there can be other reasons for this behavior, like knowing what is out there and not wanting to deal with it, or being smaller than hell, such as yourself, and not being able to make it to the door before it closes. All zenaphobics must be taken as individuals. I also have the fear of Zena. I mean, what's with the yodeling, when she's beating the begeesus out of some armored thug? Must be a misplaced expression of joy instead of terror for her. Could be she suffers approach-avoidance issues with old country music. Or it's probably in the script.
I guess I am too much of a Jimmie Rodgers fan to be able to relate to that whole bit.. But it does take all kinds, which is one reason I'm inside on this gray day and not out making with the violence with the vintage warriors, and yodeling like Patsy Cline on crack. But back to my initial question, of the possibility of your having depression, as well as myself: Supposedly, depression claims more years than war, cancer and AIDs put together. Other illnesses, from alcoholism and heart disease, can mask depression so put that in there with the rest of those snowballing problems. If you take that with your oat meal - note that depression may be the biggest killer on earth ... Also, some folks get so depressed they commit sideways, kill them self, and later die. Who needs that?
Of course stress takes the case on both sides of that one, and I understand your life is ideally simple in that all you do is eat shedded skin and shit, so perhaps we can rule this problem out for you. You are probably just a lazy bug with no ambition. Oh, well... takes one to know one. By the way, the thought of this life style to which you participate (the two party process) is one of the most disgusting and depressing things I've thought of all day. Thank God for anti-depressants and my fortunate ability to forget what I was doing or thinking about with in the minute. I am not ruling out Alzheimers or my being dumber than a donut too.As ever,
 Andrew Solomon, The Noonday Demon An Atlas of Depression, Simon and Schuster 2001
November 5, 2003
It has been quite some time since we have corresponded, and yet I am always aware of your presence and am mindful of a personal dialog quite recently; though this may no be so. I do recall many a lonely moment when you, of all my acquaintances, friends and family, have been the only remaining friend by my side --with your ever thoughtful willingness to hear my comments and complaints. I thank you for that, you almost always respond with encouragement, humor, or an enlightening thought or suggestion. You are there for me in my present (even when it's over,) and especially when I am at my lowest. Having hit bottom on a regular basis makes our relationship natural, as well as well matched. I wonder at your tiny size and massive presence and persistence--even through the vacuum trials and air filters, day after day. Lonely are the brave, but lucky is the parasite who share the house with an apathetic, lazy slob like me.. Those who are together for so many a lowly shared experience, as well as those who share the same environment for so many years, can make any companionship one taken for granted. I thank you for your friendship and hope you are well and happy on this lovely Indian Summer day.
On close examination, you are one ugly creature, but having already thrown my stones, I share your in your guilt as well as your sins.As ever,