Dear Mom,
The decades since my disappearance from Killingworth, Connecticut; into the Deep South have been rough, and my torture therein upon my return at the Commonwealth’s 1863 Union military officer’s academy was arduous. And we all know it is only now that I am awakening from a slumber of sublimation and sedation now of many years, as though hearing ten pins in the hills, and that I, I, persist; still believing in George.

Yet, please belive me when I assure you that you will meet the price of darkness, “whose stuff you’ll love”, if you end things, and that Satan says: “it can always get worse”.

Because; Jesus taught that the soul can never die. Yet, also, remember that George famously said that he “used to believe [that the requirement was to] read the Bible and try harder”, but that he subsequently has come to believe in Yale.

Heck, maybe I will make you a Terra Cotta Pieta some day and we can all remember why Jesus died, was buried, and was risen on the third day… to ascend into heaven and be seated at the right hand of the father.

And, however, remember always that strength is rarely a thing one is required to have while alone in a wilderness, and, further, know that there are usually mental health professionals available for you, too, when I seem “out of control”, when I upset you with mean and difficult words, when I leave a sticky note and drive to Colorado, or when you reminisc about those occasions when I shaved my head, but never my eyebrows as the Nazarie vow stipukates; before I had my Wahl and attachments and knew to give myself a proper crewcut in my SSA disability beneficiary cloister now that our former family has given everything to build your farm.

And, if ever you think you can’t go on by simply believing what I have warned you about Satan, in this way that I do, then simply go to those Yale psychiatrists or their subordinates; with whom you can more readily connect regarding your problems.

Finally, just stay out of Texas and Oklahoma, visit the high line, have a new york strip steak, and perhaps consider a pause at about where it might have been dressage and patience promise.

And finally, Mother, my apology; because I have had to confess to you my fear in Jesus’s teaching of the immortal soul and in my having found this faith in knowing that there is only ever continuing in existence.

-your son,

SIMON ALAN FLYNN