Open letter to Jed McKenna
The silence is breaking now, so in retrospect it's no surprise that my wife brought me your first two books. After reading just a few words, it was almost like reading the autobiography I probably wonít write. Everything tumbles out in no particular order.
Amusing is that I strongly disagreed with a different manifestation, Regis McKenna, who plucked me out of my tech writing position, where I had screwed up dangerously by including warnings in the operating procedures about Hydroflouric Acid. The people making stuff on silicon chips weren't supposed to know about this liquid that eats away nerves under fingernails, stopping the normal pain signals.
So I was
promoted and had a useless job in an office right next to his, up there with
all the vice presidents. After a couple of weeks he called me into his
office, supposedly to see how it was going with gluing product samples into
little plastic boxes. But actually it was to lay on me,
with piercing eye (he'd gotten his degree from the Jesuit,
Yeah, I thought, but what about our undefined self? I was disgusted, really, really fed up with it all, and got the hell out of there.
It has been a long, difficult ride, very colorful. But why re-invent the wheel? I can just refer people to your books. We've all got enough to do. And right now I feel like doing some music on my keyboard. So to end this, here's something that wrote itself a couple of days ago, like a bird winging through.
free of peace
free of war
nowhere to go
donít close the door
donít get it?
well thereís nothing to get
so donít snore
the sun is coming up
wonít go down