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47 Stein: Letter to a Young Rilke My Dear Mr. Rilke: forgive me that I have been so long in writing to you. I am reading your extended letters, as I sit for days with my back to the view of Paris. My dear Mr. Rilke, really what I want to say is for god’s sake, stop all this laborious earnestness, really, please, just be your own god but not in the top-hat, white-man way (I know it’s a stretch) but try getting dirty sometime: or, put it another way: buttonhole it, terror the industry. the twat of it is missing, godspeed handiwork, the dress needs to open. Try drag, maybe, or scissors, the long cloth blue heart looks directly into the well. Lengthen the frammis until sunlight covers the niche, the hole, maybe cut those sideburns of mourning. Anterior to it all, scrap the goddamn precious. slat, harrier, cunt/then punt. Less noun noun and more less. ...

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