Letter from Ivan Rado (Received May 24th, 2001 from r**********2@yahoo.com)

Dear Commission,

I have been standing in front of you for the past two minutes. I have been trying to explain to you how arrows change for the past two minutes. An arrow points to the sky, you look away, and the arrow points to the east. Yesterday I wanted to be a seafaring man, today I want to be some kind of alone. Have you noticed me yet? I asked this yesterday as well; some woman waiting for her bus, wiping her mouth, waving goodbye, designing portions of roads... she was evil. Later, I walked by a Starbuck's large, later I was 'at large', later I will be standing in front of you. Now I stand before you.

Do you mind if I call you Sally? I have been whined at before. I have been wined at before. I have drank my fair share. I may remember less and less, but I can still see the walls dripping. Sophisticated and mysterious, drinking a lager.

I've helped you down these stairs, now will you help me to the port. I must get to the port if I am to fly the seas. I will miss my ship. Down at the docks; a great height. What if this is fantastic? The volumes are filling up as we speak, but the editors are quicker than the writers; we end up with nothing, or less than that, sub zero weather. Help me save the northern gallery. What could be larger than the caribou dilemma? I have been staring at you since it has been cold out. I'm standing outside. Something is keeping me warm, or covering up my eyes, or shadowing my mind.

Sincerely,

Ivan Rado