GARY GARY Captsone

The letter 

The year 1∆6 was a fateful one for the children of Buge. Its early winter months saw my holy pilgrimage to the Buge zone, in the good company of my only two true friends. To provide a better painting of the trek as a whole, I feel obliged to begin my recitation a month before cast off. The first member of the expedition was my good friend Johan, thick-skinned yet manic, an artist relentlessly tormented by existence outside of composing. And, as an aspiring music-man, young Johan wished to test his mettle as a composer through confrontation with the Master Buge. I admired his youthful passion and, as is probably best described in our second round of correspondence, I adored his compositions. The two of us shared a stomping ground and had each witnessed the other in youth, if only in periphery here or there; for in the old boxing town of Lar Grotis, where nothing much happened, it seemed like no one much cared. Despite our hometown’s banality, Johan managed to cross paths and feed each other's cynicism beautifully. We bonded over such issues as passwords, naming conventions, and video. A month into our perverse interactions, he showed me his most beautiful song in the world. That day was wordless. I can only recall our rendezvous in aisle 10 of MarketLand. Golden glory spewed from his tattered ipod and across my delicate eardrums, they thirsted for more. We ceased communication for 20 years after that encounter, rekindled our friendship //