Karen,

I am very very distressed. What the hell has happened to Alexander? Perhaps I am confused, or something has become of me that I can’t explain, but I have a troubling force festering inside me, personifying itself to a point where it may have taken hold of me. I need you to explain these things to me because I have lost a very vital frame of reference and losing that has begun to interfere with imperative promises I have made to those that I am firmly intimate with.

I will describe the reason I need these explanations, but I’d like to begin by relaying a disclaimer of sorts. I am not Timothy Booth. I do not possess the conversational style or intellect the he possesses. I have understood the whole time that you prefer his thoughts and ideas over mine, and that you wish that I correspond through him. For this, I cannot do that. This is something that is deeply personal to me, not to mention something that may involve him directly based on my actions and your response. Please understand me when I tell you that I cannot display what my points are by oblong analogies or narratives, or by popping a quote at my close. I have a reason I must ask you the things I must ask you. Subsequently, I have a reason that I need to know the things that you know. And finally, There is something I question in the yawning center of myself. I am sorry if I speak to you improperly, but I expect you to understand my sentiments.

My question, in brief, is just the same as above: What exactly has happened to Alexander? I must know, Karen.

The Reason I ask:

Timothy, myself, and another that I’m almost positive you’ve had no acquaintance with (spare me the omnipotence shit) got together a few nights ago upon the request of Timothy. We had planned on studying some material for a while and executing some of the preparatory activities. In a manner of speaking, we fell off track and began our own transcendental activities, employing the use of heavy narcotic drugs. There was something different about this particular experience, and in midst of the confusion Timothy went a bit too far. And in going too far, we blindly agreed and hoped Alex would show up. I seem to remember him answering, but I may have imagined it. It doesn’t seem like him to answer to anything really. It is difficult to explain, Karen, because to be in the craze or euphoria is unique.

The Reason I need to know:

You understand what all of this involves, so pardon the crude jargon, but we were participating in what sexual psychologists and all those other shrinks call “mutual masturbation.” What partially made this experience unique was not that it was enjoyable, per se, but all of us understood one another. Alex was not there. And I believed that this connection supplied a physical product when we all ejaculated at the same exact moment in the Deep Sea of Time. Alex was not there. Though we felt like gods all throughout the night, I think that this connection provided a means to a collective realization of how this was not intended to happen, and that realization was that Alex was not there. I feel like even though I’m not corresponding to you through Timothy, that you absolutely understand.

That which I question myself:

I call it a question to myself, but I have been made aware that you can answer for me. What are you doing? If this is your sick pleasure Karen, rest assured that I will fucking kill you. Do you know why? It’s because -

This is expensive.

Explain yourself, Karen. To me, not Timothy.

Signed,
Stanley Sikes

*****

This is the first letter written by "Stanley Sikes." It seems that he is highly involved with the people who have written the previous letters.