Dear Raymi,

I suspect that I’m like many of your regular readers. My eye was initially captured by the quirky, semi-naked photographs, but it’s the nigh-on incomprehensible streams of consciousness that keep me coming back for more.

There is something irrepressibly self-absorbed about your pictures. It looks at times like you’re trying to climb into the camera in order to get closer to yourself. They seem ridiculous, childishly coquettish, but more than a little haunting, too. The way it seems to me, anyway.

On reading your recent entry on the hateful e-mails you’ve received lately, I wanted to know what they actually said. I read the Comments that people had made in response to your entry, but found their bland encouragements cravenly sicophantic(sp?).

Frankly, I can see why someone might be riled by your writing style. But accusing you of considering yourself “fucking special” seems to me a little like calling Jack Kerouac self-indulgent. I can’t think of any way to qualify that assertion, but there it is. Of course you think yourself extra-special, why else would write a blog? The excuse of the self-indulgent tirade is entertainment. I find you extremely entertaining. Keep it up.

I hope your medication is treating you well.

Regards,

Tim