Dear Mr. Mose,
My name is Matthew Ping. My adviser is Richard Deutch. I am not sure if he talked with you about me or not. Therese Quinn told me a while ago that I should contact you and I do not believe I did. I'm writing because here in the last few weeks of the semester I am being suppressed and not able to complete projects due to the schools hunger for my money. I am in a film class and can not use the media center, even though I work there. I am in sculpture and designed objects, I am doomed to fail because I can not use the shops. This is also having a severe psychological toll. I am a war veteran. After surviving choking brushes with death and isolation I have found myself bled out by the school and the American capitalist system. Ayn Rand said the value of a man is the work that he does. I believe this. I am working here, I am building, creating and writing. Only to be suppressed and pushed out by the long blind arm of business. I believe in art, I believe the school helps it develop. What kind of system have we let contaminate so that we do not allow some to flourish. I thought I would be put into an environment of progression and have opportunity. Instead this is a system of degradation. What respect can an entity have when it filters out those that take bombs, and destroy the harbingers of death for them. When we cast aside the warriors we let protect our fragile safety and freedom. What pits do you cast us aside in, as if it didn't matter. You allowed our souls to be slipped by tyrants, no raise of fists to shatter the thought of peace through war. Now I'm even further in that pit. Debt, isolation, loss. May the school keep feeding on the bankrolls of the worthy, and create it's own demise through the shallow banks of need vs. worth. You make money because your worth something to people, but when money is all that matters you lose that spark that made it all worth while in the first place. I am no longer a fighter. Your peers have exhausted my weak hope, and now my integrity. I should not have to wallow and beg for an opportunity. I was pushed to come in on promises of scholarships, and threats of loss. All I can see now is loss. Wasted money, wasted time. These last few weeks curl before me like a black carpet of impending doom. This next year is unsure. I am now on even less stable ground than what I once walked on. I can not ever be sure what fate holds again.