Dear Richard Hugo,
This is insane, who are you? I realise what’s going on, and want to say that I’ve had enough. Adamson came around here late last night, out of his mind on some mind-altering substance and started reading poems outside my window. Just ignore it, I thought, and he will tire from the sound of his own voice. However he continued reading or reciting for over two hours. I opened the window and told him to leave. He refused to go, then stuck his arm in through the window and tried to grab my shirt but tore it apart and I jumped back. “If you don’t leave I will pull the window down and break your arm”. Okay, he said, great, do it! So I reached up and pulled down the window with force. I heard the bone crack. He still keep reciting poetry, but this time it was The Revenge by Tennyson. It was unbearably disturbing. Then he stopped reciting and said, “Let me in your are my friend!” I opened the window. I wanted to see how bad the arm was injured. As soon as I opened up, a huge plastic sack full of bright red fish came through the window. Vicki Viidikas was behind Adamson and she had flung the wretched fish across the sill. They crashed to the floor, the sack split open and the red bodies of the fish scattered across my bedroom floor. What the hell is one to make of this order of Insanity? Come. Come to Australia. The last ten American poets who visited Sydney were subjected to embarrassments along these lines or worse. Come at peril to your body and soul.