Email me

Thursday, April 29, 2010

4th email

----- Original Message -----
From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < >
Sent: Sunday, May 2nd, 1999 10:32 AM
Subject: RE laurie anderson

Wow… ain’t you bold…

I wasn’t even thinking of it…my nihilism presents itself as simply to think and believe in nothing and respond only to the present...but if you want to make a meeting time in the future… which is completely against everything I believe in… then go ahead… I can’t promise if I’ll be there as the moment usually offers something unpredictable and I follow… but… hey… let’s give it a shot… you never know.


Sunday, April 25, 2010

3rd email

----- Original Message -----
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Saturday, May 1st, 1999 11:22 PM
Subject: her name’s laurie anderson

Dear Stacey,
I think the singer you’re thinking of is Laurie Anderson and the lyric is (I’m such a pedant, but I love Laurie Anderson) the sun came up like a big bald head.
I understand why you thought it was big boiled egg, and perhaps this could be better lyric if the moment was right.

For interest, the song is called Sharkey’s Day from the album Mister Heartbreak. The line continues:
The Sun came up like a big bald head, poking over the grocery store.

The other lyric I like of hers is:
All of nature talks to me. If I could only figure out what it was trying to tell me.

I feel like this a lot. The world is constantly trying to give me information but I have no idea how to decipher it.

Like your last e-mail.

I guess the world (and you) is trying to tell me something, but as always I can’t work it out.

Are you saying you would contemplate meeting me for a hot beverage or are you blowing me off?
(Which if you are, is cool)


Thursday, April 22, 2010

2nd email

----- Original Message -----
From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < >
Sent: Saturday, May 1st, 1999 10:32 AM
Subject: RE being bold

hi dom, I was a little surprised to receive your e-mail… I was a little shocked… I do remember you… hard to forget.

It was a strange night, I agree. I did notice that it was a full moon… not that I normally go in for that kind of thing… but it was bright and yellow… like a big boiled egg as that Canadian speaky/singer woman says.

All the best

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

1st email

----- Original Message -----
From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Wednesday, April 28, 1999 8:20 PM
Subject: being bold

Hi Stacey,
I’m not sure if you’ll remember me - we met last week at Crisps’ 18st fancy dress birthday party.

I was dressed as depression. All in black.

No one thought it was particularly funny. I didn’t think it was particularly funny.
I was depressed.

At least I didn’t have to try too hard with my costume.
From memory (though to be honest, I’m pretty damn sure) you were dressed as a nihilist and didn’t have any costume at all.

At least that’s what you said when I met you over by the hills hoist washing line (is that a tautology? Do Hills make anything else apart from washing lines…? Message to self, remember to look this up)

We talked for half an hour about how difficult it is to meet people at these kinda of things. And how everyone seems on guard, nervous about being foolish. We then pondered if we were being ourselves at this moment in time.

The depressive and the Nihilist.

The moment ended as I came close to finishing my beer and stated that maybe this was an intellectual’s mating rite.

You rightly laughed at me, pointing out that I had just referred to myself as an intellectual.

You mentioned nothing of the mating rites comment, for as a nihilist any doctrine associated with organisation, associated or imposed, wasn’t worth commenting on.

Of course you were right and when I returned to the Hill’s Hoist with a new beer, you’d moved on.

And I completely understood.

You had been caught in one of those painful party chit-chats that desperately tried to connect but in the end only reinforced the whole imposed nature of communication.
Foolishly I looked for you for the rest of the night to apologise. But I only caught a glimpse of you as you kissed Darth Vadar goodbye. (Or was it Buddha; I couldn’t tell. Darth Vadar without that helmet on and Buddha look exactly the same when viewed from behind.)

I contemplated calling after you as you stepped into the taxi, but felt that would be all too predictable.

Instead I took the more predictable option and watched you through the rear window of the yellow cab as it sped from Highgate Hill and headed toward the city.

If anything I enjoyed how the streetlights heralded your journey and the night air, nearly visible, created a potential, though familiar cinematic moment.

Anyway I couldn’t help my sentimentality and continued to think of you over the next couple of days. I plucked up the courage to ask Crisps at Uni what your name was. He told me it was Stacey Marchenkova. Russian, huh? (Sorry a moment of clicheitis)

Now I feel like a stalker (note to self; don’t mention the ‘s’ word - only makes you seem more the same) but I was genuinely compelled to contact you and explain myself and offer a small apology for being a dick.

So after receiving your name, I plugged Crisps for your addy. Reluctantly he passed it on and here I am.

My name is Dominic, though I prefer the contracted version; Dom. I think it has a Latin root - home; domus (sp? I think) and after doing a little research, learnt it also means home in Russian.

Please don’t feel the need to reply.

But if in a moment between hot beverages you have that ever so special spare minute, I would love to buy you something small (“Poor, I am” – damn, another allusion to Star Wars) and apologise in person.

Hoping you’re well
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