FROM THE DESK OF BIENESTOCK THEE ZEITSCHRIFT
OR: GEEZ I CAN'T FIND MY KNEES
My dearest lady,
This letter concerns the events of April --th, 20--, of which I must profoundly and deploringly offer sincerest apologies for my oafish behavior.
I do not often ask for, or want, forgiveness from anyone, but do feel as if this specific incident requires a few words from myself, for wasn't it Nerval, or was it Novalis, who said, "if to err is human, and forgive divine, then surely asking forgiveness via public letter is somewhere in between."
I believe this is the correct quote. Though, take heart, my memory has been faltering since I was kicked in the head by a donkey only just last fall.
I can only say, were I better man, I would not have attempted it; were I a smarter man, I would have waited for another day to try it; and were I a richer man, I would have gotten away with it. But to make one thing clear, there is no question what would have happened were I a prettier man, for I am, already, a very pretty man.
But, I fear digressing from what is surely a very serious subject. Wasn't it that great Romantic poet, Thomas Montgomery, who said, upon the accidental manslaughter of his best friend and lover, Peter Shae, "Apology is very grave, but rarely dead." Or let us consider Wiltmore's immortal words, after being exiled England for self-admitted traitory during the Napoleonic Wars, "Apology is a serious issue, in that it is serious, and it is an issue."
And though I offer these quotes merely as a prelude to the actual apology, there is one quote I must touch on before I get to it. It was in the days following the Revolutionary War, that Benjamin Franklin, sent to France as ambassador to help secure funding for our fledgling nation, was caught, by certain religious officials, in the arms of a prostitute. To these officials, he uttered the immortal words, "Never ruin an apology with an excuse." And I whole-heartedly agree with our forefather.
Though, I do feel there are a couple points I should add.
The first is that I really must disclose to you that I have been suffering from a chronic malady since late summer. This is a point I believe you may be able to feel a certain compassion towards, as during the entirety of our meeting you were sniffling your right nostril, I assume as a sign of a similar chronic ailment. However, you must understand, I do not suffer a chronic sniffle of the nose, but of the mind. It is an apparently very rare and possibly cogenital condition, by which, I am told, as I have never been able to witness it myself, I will, at the drop of a hat, turn into a facsimile of an ass.
And, madame, I do recall you dropping your own hat that afternoon.
The second, well you see, I know André Breton said it best, and here my memory does not falter, "But the prophecy fails to mention, there's another rock like a large grindstone that is its exact counterweight on the scale of the waves, that is rising tumultuously, ardently, even faster than the other is sinking; it's the love of man and woman which lies, hypocrisy, and psychological misery still hold back from showing what it's capable of, which to be born has historically had to foil the vigilance of the furious old religions, and which only began to stammer, so late, in the songs of trubadours."
And, while my memory may not be faulty here, my sense almost probably is.
Which is to come finally to say, I am sorry, my darling, a term I use only to mean a small sense of endearment, and nothing more, trust me. I am sorry I got so drunk at your house. I am sorry I got so drunk at your house and stepped on your cat.
I am sorry.
Yours, but not really,
Bienen.
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