Another letter to Jewel

Whispers from the ghost,

You see me, though I am dead to you, hear me but my words are the wind. I moved on, yet, in being intemperate as the insoluble airs in my convictions, must wander fore and aft in reminiscences. Here I am, to whisper again to you.

Most insinuative to me of recent has been Everything Breaks Sometime, and I wonder that you shall be including it in your newest project. Perhaps not, given the custom crafted manner in which you are creating it, nonetheless, it might be advisible to make adendum of some time tested songs,
for that audience who is less than enthusiastic about the new face you are choosing to present. Again, the collective has been primarily against this deviation of genre as I've seen it, though the long term benefits could be greater for it, given pertinent appeal. It seems of more than scarce irony that while This Way was reviled for sounding too country, perhaps due to the influence of those greats you've collaborated with, the duet with Kid Rock would have benefitted you famously.

Perhaps this would have been less advisable in long term conditions, since the expectations of those who viewed you would be disappointed, what with the dance genre standard you now pursue. Then again, you might have surprised the cotton candy masses by offering a surprise by transcending those labels you've already estalished. I would encourage you in these things, for in manifesting the diversified impresario, your long term repute is bolstered signifigantly.

What's next, a novel?

I would like to send they declarations of adoration, but fear the currency of my cares are wooden nickles. New horizons fade to the blindness of my compulsions, and I feel that I am that poet broken upon the crystal cities steps.

Looking upon certain fans who, given to rambling discourse, find themselves
shunned to degrees, my fears are in such context in reference to the diatrabes I've often given. Devotion to ones art or beliefs, by the extremist nature to which they prepossess, are naturally loathed to those taken by mundanities. I shall struggle on, and endeavor onwards yet, for, in exploring the shallow pool of melencholia, I find this hollow composition by far the more repugnant.

Perhaps it doesn't matter so much what I think. Unfortunately, I've lost all frame of reference, even by your musings.

FIYHIMH,