“…letters mingle souls” - John Donne.

Since I’m something of a handsome expert on everything, I’m familiar with therapeutic techniques. These are the tools that psychiatrists use to keep you coming back for repeat business, and getting “in touch with yourself,” instead of compressing all of your feelings into a tiny sponge ball regularly saturated with grain alcohol and non-prescription medications.

While I’m skeptical of therapy that doesn’t involve punching through a concrete wall or slashing somebody’s tires, I’m an open-minded individual. And so we reach my first reason for writing today: I’m want to explore my inner psyche through letter writing.

I’m going to write letters to people and things, explaining exactly how I feel, and never send those letters. It’s widely accepted in “the field,” as we call it (however, there will be no emo music playing in the background, and my on-screen love interest won’t find the letter at the worst possible time causing a montage of brooding scenes at the end of which we hook up anyway).

I am also hoping that these letters will be saved, long after I’m dead, and reproduced in a best-selling novel about my life. Sort of like that did for that guy that broke it down with a sick flow at Gettysburg. Just in case that does happen, future historians, here’s a tentative title for my biography “Sapien: Abdominals like Tank Armor.”

And here it is: The Collected Correspondences of Joseph T. Sapien.

Dear DMX,

I recently read your interview, in which you were surprised to learn that a black man is running for president, and asked “What the **** is a Barack?”

This is an excellent question, and there are no answers forthcoming. You’re an insightful, unique man, and I am sure that if you and “Barack” were to throw down in a freestyle battle, you would almost certainly **** his ****, and then **** the **** over and around his ****.

Also, arresting you just for ramming into the airport with your car was – in my eyes – incredibly unfair. Read More »