fragments through a scanner with and without modern OCR from
Philip K. Dick, dear claudia letter, between September 23 and 26, 1974 (see Index), 4 pages.
the goal is everything he wrote me--not just the first page of this letter--through a scanner w/ modern OCR posted online for all to freely read

In another part of the
forest.

Dear Claudia,

      Your letter tore me apart because I've been writing letters to a chick named Kathy (what the hell, Cathy - Kathy, it's basically the same) ever since I left Marin County in Feb 1972. She was the girl I loved. In my Vancouver speech it's she who stole the Coke bottles. She was supposed to go to Vancouver with me (see letter in S.F. Commentary that goes with the speech). After I came down here to Fullerton, Kathy came down once and stayed with me two days and then left; that was May 1972. I've received one tiny pencil-written letter since saying she would write more regularly; since then nothing. Not ever hearing from Kathy has been the saddest thing that ever happened to me, and the most perplexing. Why doesn't she write? What happened? Is she okay? Back in Marin County she was my best friend; we took care of each other. I keep thinking maybe she's dead or in jail or worse. (married, probably.) Anyhow, there've been many, many letters from me to Kathy, yards & yards of them, full of love and pain and then growing anger and perplexity and finally near madness. I think every letter to every woman, now, is in a sense a further letter to Kathy, a trying to reestablish communication. I may be hearing regularly from God or Elijah or Jim Pike, but I sure as hell am not hearing from Katherine. But it is there in the back of my mind, that hope; maybe some day -

      I think if I ever lost touch with reality it would begin with thinking about Kathy again, consciously, getting up in the morning and sitting there saying, "Why?" I guess each of us has a kathy in his or her life, a phantasm from the past, a fata morgana that still hovers, ready to slip in and take over the mind in a moment of despair or weakness. I look around me at Tessa, my son Christopher, the screenplay I'm writing, everything I've got, and like God said when He Saw the universe, I feel about it that it's good, but then like today when I read your letter, the dream you had...Claudia, you and I certainly have a strange relationship, especially when asleep. I wonder whether our psyches somehow mingle on some deep universal level. I'm not willing to say that you esped my unconscious preoccupation, but it is strange, and this isn't the first time, is it?

      You're not a kathy-figure to me, though, because she has/had black hair. That's how you tell people apart: by their hair color.

      You're right about the force Ubik, since the part you quoted says what it is. There's no mystery. I keep asking questions I've already answered. By the way, I just finished rereading UBIK for the first time since I wrote it (circa 1968) and I found that a number of my post-March dreams are absolutely for sure scenes from the book, down to the last detail. If I had a better memory l'd have realized it sooner. Well, all I can say is what I said; there is an airtight and super-close relationship between UBIK, Ubik, phildick and my post-March experiences. I don't know what I can add (but I'm sure I'll think of something). In a way the dream I cherish the most is the one in which I carefully memorized

        .         
        .
        .
        .

forestV



marginal notes

page 4: P.PS. Could you dye your Hair Black?

files=pkd-dcLforest.html & pkd-dcLforestV.gif