Letter #2

Oh Mate,

I'm aching with it.
Come to within 20 feet of breaking with it. Take a drink and think. Look at it again. Tear it up - again and again, over and over until it's too thick to tear (six times - I couldn't make the seventh), then have another drink, another think. I scream at the night - lie down on the ground and wonder why, but no answer comes. Where would it come from? Jesus? Suppressed unconscious? Both as crazy. I'd switch on the TV but I dropped it. On a passing Jehovah's Witness. I don't think anyone saw. And now the TV's broke. I need to cancel the License. The milk ran out yesterday. The cat ran out after it. That's OK. I hate milk. I don't know why I drank it. And I didn't have a cat. I don't know where that came from. No TV, so I'm staring at a bulb so I can watch its afterglow in my head. I was a bit lonely earlier so I turned the radio on - the fire station burned down. How? No-one below in the street - I turned the radio off. Pink discs in my eyes.

There is no end to this.