I received a torn portion of a letter from my man in Tashkent, Re Cosmico, yesterday, along with a formal apology from the national postal service in Maribor, for apparently a postman smelled the envelope and whatever musk (it’s still faintly coming through whatever fumigant the authorities used) emanating from the thing, he could not restrain himself from tearing it open and eating with relish and his pupils the words within, a description of a visit to a Tashkent brother by Sr. Cosmico, of which as far as I can see only a fragment has been saved. I will publish that XXX rated fragment as soon as I am sure there is nothing being kept back by customs that was intended for my mailbox.
More very soon.
rickharsch 