To Sean G. (first letter)

Dear Sean,
I keep missing you or losing your contact info, or there isn’t a pen, or someone comes along and changes the subject. I think over the last three or four years we’ve both stopped bothering to pretend we have the time or energy to stay in touch.
Just the other day I discovered a new show of your collage work through a stack of invites on a coffee shop counter. I instantly recognized your sensibility. I still look at the collage you gave us a few times a day/night — the one with anonymous high heels and the bare feet of Congolese (?) hunters. It’s over my head just to the left of the computer screen.
Your empathic intelligence is encouraging, but also leads me to anxiously wonder how such an extremity of dispositions can exist in the world (not within you of course, but between yourself and so many others).
I imagine that I am your friend, not out of some kind of patronizing sympathy, but because I feel a genuine sense of solidarity with you and your life. We have both, in our own ways, and without contrivance, been oblivious to (or perhaps naive about) the mechanizations of cultural capital. The joy of ideas and the satisfaction of naming them — these moments of recognition and wonder — they seem to be enough for both of us.