I was deeply disturbed by the report of Mr. Kreider's of last week. It is not so much that he speaks of putting on the large shaped nappy and to go on the confusion of American shooting. These things are not rare for him. But it is not like him to account for the personal problems to the readers--always he hid the latter or refers to them only oblique in the metaphor. It is a fundamental decomposition of the border between the artist and the man, and it is this to alarm me. Moreover the repeated depiction of Mr. Kreider forcing the much-loved puppet frog of the children to fellate him, it is the cause of increased concern. When I did not receive any drawing or report of Mr. Kreider this week, I placed the hated cat in the guard of a friend and closed the Place-Not-Revealed and determined via Amtrak to locate Mr. Kreider and to offer the assistance.

I decided to interview the nearest friends of Mr. Kreider's “to follow his ways.” All the friends of Mr. Kreider's are exactly like represented in his drawings, to envisage the infamous Boyd, who is worse. He lives in an apartment of Baltimore like the anonymous part of the hotel, furnished with only one wide chair with cuddly toy and the racks mysteriously wrapped in towels. Those proved to be filled with books carrying of the titles such as “The Flying Beast," and “The Hole of the Pit.” I ensure you that it is not erroneous translations. Apparently they are the rare and invaluable editions of the collector of works of undeserving literature. Always Boyd fixedly looks at only the breast and can speak about nothing useful. He calls Mr. Kreider on the telephone frequently but apparently they speak only about the jejune literature about the werewolfs and about the bodies of the American actresses. He was much occupied with work and did not see Mr. Kreider since the tribulations have started in June, and knows nothing of his present condition. He knew only that he had gone to New York, of which he learned reading the same reports I have announced. It was a use without value and unpleasant of my time. I was offered to sleep on the couch but declined. There was a certain odor there, subtle and difficult to define but a warning for the circumspect one.

I am directed next to New York to speak with Mr. Kreider's colleague Megan Kelso, that Boyd ensures me is among the dearest friends of Mr. Kreider's. I will write more after there.