(written by Motokiyu as Araki Yasusada to his 1926 American pen-pal,
Richard-- one of a series of twenty letters left in holograph by Moto and
presently being edited by myself and Javier Alvarez. Motokiyu has Yasusada
writing to Richard during AY's second year of EFL studies.)


---------
August 9, 1926

Dear Richard:

Maybe time, in thinking, is like numbers in creasings. Each point in such
foldings is a Now in repeating. Stones make clickings in a river where the
Black boy is washing [splashing, splashing]. If you look, his dogs can cut
you in piecings. Consequently, as an alluding, keep your eyes to this
nowness of Now. For like a Vaginal [sic], in reality, our chests are
sticking in laws that go hiding like numbers, as I have said (to repeat it),
in creasings. Now gently untie to unfold me, Richard, so I may open with no
bondage where Time is concerning.

Thank you.

Presently, I will name such a country Platonica. It is a country with no
Time, scarcely in belief as you must be. In its landscape are some long and
oily Rods such as mathematical Rods [sic]. Most strikingly, this landscape
is lopsided, with a most definite backside and one Black frontier all oily
around a Hole. For example, if you will please consider Triangulars in
creasings as Nows, the land of them comes to a stopping in the degenerate
Triangular into which every three points come once in a clicking [sic].
Consequently, there is a jetting-forthness [illegible passage due to
blotching] whilst [sic] who knows what will happen? Therefore, through the
telescope, there is some stubble, all wetly, under the Black boy’s arms. In
words other [sic], pal-pen, have you ever stumbled through a burnt forest,
dying for some water?

I will continue as far as this startling matter is concerned, which is a
jetting that goes out of me saying: No, No, do not look at that Black boy,
for his dogs will cut you [extended illegible passage due to blotching] ...
For it would not molested you [sic] if the boy were a white one!

Thank you.

The point of this degenerate Triangular is so very special, Richard, one
must call it Alpha. Other frontiers, like Ribs [sic] are created by some
mostly special Triangulars which go clutched by a Rod [sic] and a third is
more distant from them (15 billion light years, so to say). Also the other
is founded as a Frontier by (excuse some help of my English teacher)
collinear configurations-- all the three particles go stringing on one line,
erect, like a Rod or a Law.

I desire, Richard, to be clean as a whistle for you (also help from my
English teacher). The Platonica for Triangulars is like a pyramid which
carries always in spacelessness three faces through a Now that is timeless.
Desire is one thing, no need to say, but do you see it from there where you
are, pal-pen? Its Apex is Alpha. And this is the most important point. (The
eyes of the Black boy are made white by the clickings of stones that come
from a river that jets out of the Hole and which makes this writing into the
Rod that joins us in this Vaginal of Now.) Even in your degenerate
Triangular, Richard, you will always be in this Now. It doesn’t matter if
your death is coming.

Why? I will say to you.

Because the faces of the Pyramid meet in the Ribs formed by the Triangulars
with two coincident Vertices. And the Sarcophagus of clickings circling the
Now of your absent body is very beautiful.

Thank you also for the kind letter from Mr. Barbour, your teacher of
Christianity.

I am sincere,



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