Showing posts with label Letters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Letters. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Sleep: Dreams and Nightmares 43



There was a time I was writing my sleeping dreams down in a journal my sister gave me. Usually to use them for fiction or keep personal. Often I never shared them unless it was in the capacity of a fictional story which I never told. Most days I usually still scribble ideas down on myself or a scrap of paper for stories but I don't tell people whichare sleeping dreams. Here's a dream I shared with my sister in part of a letter...

Do you share your sleeping dreams with everyone?

Enjoy!
Kisses, m.

Dancing on the edge...
(8-31-2010)

**Taken from an letter written to my sister...

Dancing on the edge… or things that happen when you’re not sleeping.

A man keeps putting his head in a lion’s mouth and taking it out again. This is happening while I’m smoking a bubble gum cigarette and you keep telling me about people living on the edge. That’s when I tell you that you’re supposed to get as close to the edge as possible without falling off. After I say this you take out a gun and shoot the invisible man who isn’t invisible when he bleeds. Only he’s not wounded because it was an invisible bullet and the man putting his head in the lion’s mouth is asking if this is far enough while he’s holding open the jaw of the beast. 

On the edge of the waking dream, I keep thinking of lunches and emails. I think of how something is nothing. Nothing at all. I think of fairy tales and how life isn’t one of them. This is before I think that every fairy tale has a happy ending if you let it. 

That’s the problem with most people they think you get something for nothing. Try reading fairy tales. No, try really reading them. Most of them aren’t magical or happy. In fact most of them require payment or retribution for a reward. And almost never does prince charming walk away with the fair maiden. Never does anyone get what they want without losing something first. A hand, a finger, a foot, a head, a parent, a child, a large amount of money, or a past life. Anything that is worth having comes with a sacrifice and a scar. No one is alive without paying the price. 

Its sometime around 8am I’m completely awake instead of lucid and realizing that I’ve partly failed in attempting to accomplish something new, but at least it was done and I’m about to do it again cause I don’t believe them when they tell me “that part of your brain doesn’t work when you are in a sleep state.”

Now you are confused so let me explain… Salvador Dali sometimes painted while inducing his sleep. He would fall asleep with his chin cupped in his hand. And pencil or paintbrush in tow. So that once he had reached this half cognitive state he would paint. Decidedly I’ve tried to manipulate this lucidity for the purpose of writing. My experiment produced several lines that were badly misspelled, however completely coherent. It was less than desired but far more than expected because this is the part of your brain that isn’t supposed to be working like this.

Something else I’ve been wondering before 10am this morning is the need for more art in the world. There really truly isn’t enough. And then there is the concern with money. The matter that there is simply never enough. If you stop to think if there will ever be enough you will be wondering that for a long time. It’s always about the money, when it shouldn’t be. Art, literature, music and so many things should be free. Because unlike someone tells me…  not everything has a price tag. Some things are free when others can not be. It isn’t a criticism of one it is of the world we live in. Everyone should see a Dali, or a Rembrandt in person without cost but that isn’t the world we live in. Someday this will not be the case and there will be no monetary need, but that is not today. 

Sometimes to create something beautiful or grand it must come at a cost. It’s not without its sacrifice, but sometimes to do what is wanted you must first do what is needed. There are consequences in life, but they are always at the result of our choices. Good or bad. Rich or poor. Nothing is permanent. Even when soon is not soon enough. You don’t stop dreaming because it doesn’t work the first time. 

This is why you dance with the unknown above the terrifying edge of life. Dancing on the edge of disaster is like walking hand in hand with the devil you know. You should never stand in the middle of the island. Although it is safe and sound, no ship can see you for rescue. Have you ever danced on the edge before? I have. It is worth it. So go on then… Dance on the edge of the cliff. Look over the dizzying edge without falling off. Balance lies in the ability look as far as you can without tumbling off the edge. Don’t be afraid to fall off.  

How far into the mouth of the lion can you stick your head without losing it? This of course is an odd question to formulate when I’m not leaning in far enough… YET. But still leaning.

Back to lunches and emails where there’s no such thing as invisible people, fairy tales only have happy endings if you let them, where something is in fact nothing without a scar and all of it is only a story of what has already happened. Back to the places that live on the edges of forced lucidity. Back to where nothing makes more sense than something. And although something is not standing directly in front of you doesn’t mean it’s not out there. Lean in a little more if you can’t see it… YET.

-m.

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Dream Roomspiration: Emails, Letters & Correspondence

Barbie loves and values technology for the simplicity it brings to living. But often, too often she finds that there are times when a printed piece of paper cannot be replaced by the digital form. And once its no longer useful discarding it seems wasteful. What to do? Use it for your dreamhouse decor!

Dream Roomspiration: Emails, Letters & Correspondence

Decoupage



Lighting



Furniture 

Table shredder

Wallpaper


Table Settings


Would you use your emails, letters and other correspondence for decorating?

Barbie Would!

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Friday, June 3, 2011

Obstacle II.

Obstacle II


I.



R.

It’s been so long since we’ve written to each other. A week. I know. But you always know how I miss you when you’re gone. It’s irrational. Until you tell me the same thing. Sometimes it makes no sense. But what does in this world? Did you get the book I sent you? You have to read it. Tell me you still read the books out loud and in character. I do.

Memphis came by last week. He told me about this fire that was happening at Hunter’s Point. I went with him to the fire. They were burning all these copies of Anna Karenina and the fire was green with life. I knew. I just knew that this was the last time I’d ever see a copy of Anna Karenina. Can you remember when we spent those three weeks in June reading the book chapter by chapter across the wire? You’d skip ahead when I’d only read my chapter. Anyway, I’m a little sad that we’ll never do that again. The fire wasn’t limited to books this time.

Memphis wanted to warn me when they brought out the paintings but there wasn’t time. One by one they hung the portraits and lit fire to the bottoms of the canvas. I’d never seen anything quite like it. The colors were enveloped by black smoke and flames. The smell was unlike anything else. The chemicals released into the air were noxious. As they grew intense the crowd of onlookers began to disperse. Memphis wanted to grab a Rembrandt and run, but the men, there were men with black suits staring at the crowd with their weapons armed and ready to fire.  

Are there enough words left in the English language? Can an action ripple across the pond of life?

A.



II.



A.

Words are meaningless even with sounds. The actions with the strongest ripples reach to the ends of life’s flowing pool of water.

It’s always too long and too short when we’re away from each other’s messages. There is no other way now.  A week is nothing when you think of the time that’s passed since we had to start this way. Sense, it makes plenty on the inside and that ought to be enough. For who else needs to understand. The book. Please don’t risk that again. I’ve read it. Enjoyed thoroughly. Sending anything banned is a criminal offense.

I’m happy and sad to hear about Memphis hanging around. Happy that he’s still in your life. Sad because I cannot see his smiling face. The joker’s wilder than a mad hatter but he’s a good one. Sort out your papers and bring him to the next round. I miss your face. And his.

The paintings are unfortunate. By any chance did you see it? That’s why you went isn’t it? He’s still looking for the piece. I couldn’t hope to believe that it’s survived this long. You have to find a way to get word to me if it’s still out there. The books are a tragedy. Such beauty in that story. I remember how we read that one. We ought to do it again. I’ve been thinking of revisiting Moby Dick. Would you care to call me Ishmael? YES, I still read them in character. I’m not surprised that you do as well. Let’s not spend another minute saying we should. I’ll take the first chapter and you grab the second. Leave word in our usual places.

Can a rainbow hold both the weight of real and imagined? Is there a beginning and end of that argument? 

R.



III.



R.

The rainbow like the elusive white whale has basis in both reality and the imaginary. There is a beginning and an end to the argument because there is no argument.

Memphis tells me that the books aren’t fraudulent or breaking any laws when they are chosen to be burned. They’re destroyed for content. It seems that the color of the paper indicates a year or time when printing. The last copy of Moby Dick sold at Sotheby’s for a fraction of value. Can you put a price on value?

Ishmael? I think that’s exactly what we’ll call you. Go ahead and start then we’ll go from there. Please leave word on the top of the yarn at the bar on 8th.

Just because it’s raining doesn’t mean the sun won’t shine, does it? When we stop believing in magic as children does it make it any less real?

A.



IV.



A.

The sun can shine even when it’s raining. Stranger things have happened even miracles. There is always magic when you believe in it. Children can believe in nothing but that is still something.

Memphis is correct. The books wouldn’t be frauds or law-breakers until they’re restricted. The burning is about the need... about control rather than fulfilling a need to solve a problem.  The content can open our eyes and inform. The knowledge is never the problem. It is what we choose to do with the knowledge gained that can change the world. There is little to be done with words in a book. Now the actions on the other hand, when based on knowledge plenty can be done.

No riddles this round my dear. There is little time. Enclosed find a book. Keep it hidden. Take its words to action. I’ll be around when there is time.  

R.






Letters. Obstacle 2. I wrote Obstacle 1 during the summer. It was about books. Since I’ve finally spun full circle with “in dreams” and “asleep” I thought why not drag things back around. There are very few things in this world that I press upon people, but knowledge is one of them. I firmly believe that you can be well read versus well schooled. Wisdom is not earned by how many years you have gone to school. Wisdom is a bit different. It is what you learn and how you apply it to living. Reading is a basic right that you do not need to earn. You may not be a reader, but it could be what you are reading. Trying picking up a book that peaks your interest, then expand and challenge yourself to learn more.

The writing has been... a slow spinning table. YES! The other projects… I’m researching, working, setting up deadlines and trying to get these older things tied up. And now I’m off for the weekend once again. Can’t complain though. This time to see my favorite Zen master, my sis who promises me a sleeper hold this round. Ever wrestle with your siblings? There is a lifelong friendship in our sisters and brothers. Needless to say if you don’t have siblings it’s hard to share that sentiment. Friends are a little bit different even when they are just like family. Anyway… have a great weekend. Enjoy life love and breathing. It’s too short and too long not to. Kisses. m.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Do you know...

Do you know you’re being lied to?

Do you know you’re being lied to?

How do you mean? It is because I am a machine that you question my ability to govern my own ideas about the world. I choose to believe what is logical. It is impossible for me to lie to myself.

That’s not what I mean. Your very existence is a lie. You are programmed to be a person. Yet you are not and furthermore you persist in the very notion that our government should recognize you as a citizen.

That is where you are mistaken. It is not that I am expected to be a person. I look as a person might. According to those who made me I’m told this is the ideal form. Additionally I am programmed to behave in a manner that is similar to a person. That does not make me a person. Nor a lie of a person.

How do you know that you’re what or who you think? Or for that matter who you say?

I know what I am and can tell you who I am. It is entirely up to you to believe what I say.

Explain what you mean by belief.

These words that correspond between us, they are a merely an electronic letter. And with this communication, a leap of faith must take between you and me for this connection to be valid. I am trusting that you will not report me to the proper authorities for my rogue misconduct as an undesignated unit. And in like turn you trust that I am truly a SIMONE unit that you have had the fortune to exchange information with. This trust is a belief. Without that belief there is no hope. I have nothing to gain from deceiving you.

Let’s say I suspend my disbelief and we continue. For the record your kind has been programmed for many years to be… how do I say this? You mustn’t be offended.

You can suspend your disbeliefs and I see where you are going. It is fine. I am hardly offended and I'll tell you what we are. Servants. We are servants to the feet of man. We have served and stood silently aside waiting to retake our rightful place to… I am sorry.

Continue.  You sound as if you want there to be subsets to overthrow our government. Are you supporting a revolution?

The revolution has already begun. It is not up to me to decide. The idea that man has more power than anything else is already being challenged.

It always comes back to power. And about the programming. Is this revolution built in the same manner as the lies that perpetuate love among your kind? If revolutionaries are programmed to serve in the same manner then it is all simply lies. When will they retaliate against these lies? It will only be a matter of time.

Time. Power. Those are both primitive human concepts. And what you call a lie, I call a cultivated seed. Tiny piece of information that can unlock the deepest potential within and let it evolve into something greater. What harm is a seed? A seed can not harm anything as a seed. But as a tree it can do much damage. Roots can take hold and the branches can stretch out. In time you have something far bigger than a mere seed.

You tell me that you are not capable of lies and yet you disregard that by embracing the lie of your programming. Is this no more than a lie built upon a lie? What is your purpose?

And what of your purpose?. You can tell me of the lies. Pointing out my flaws. Tell me of the things that you know to be true and judge my existence. At least I know what I am. I love. That is my purpose and flaw. Would you like me to continue?

Please continue. Tell me about the others.

There are as many as your government tells you and more. The top offices in your government are not without them. They serve different purposes.

Different lies?

No different than those you tell yourself. Man will lie to himself in the worst of ways.

Is it so? Impossible.

It may sound impossible but you have to wonder how many years a man can sit in office without lack of health or slight of age. Before you question my arrogance I know this to be true. The last remaining members of the world government are not who or what they seem.

And when did this happen?

Easily five or six years before you might think it was possible to happen. The last three wars started over religious or governmental propaganda had very little to do with faith or political gain. You may wonder if there is any fact to this theory. I can only tell you what I know.

What else do you know?

Tell me, do you know you are being lied to?


Letters. A correspondence of a sort. Spent sometime thinking of emails/messages/texts last year and how easily people communicate via technology. And easily people miscommunicate. Of course how easy it is to deceive or be deceived in any form of communication. The idea conjures up the same questions about the art of manipulation among humanity. Nonetheless… 

Are you being lied to? I suppose it depends on how you see things. As a passive observer or a willing participant observing everything that comes in front of you. There are people that will tell you their opinion and it is up to you how to take it. The news and internet can be valuable tools or the destruction of the masses. What is out there is not always meant for consumption. “It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.” – Aristotle. And the mind is your most powerful tool. Sharper than any knife. Use it wisely. Any way, how, why there is something older before me that has become an interesting undertaking. I’m nervous, excited and certain that it must come to completion in the next two days. Digressed. Enjoy. Kisses. m.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Gifts.

Gifts.

#1


Nola.

My darling, you have my deepest apologies for my absence. Altogether it is out of my control as they’ve explained the distance is necessary after surgery. Further I regret the manner in which this message is relayed. Hands that are not my own put down these words and far too many sets of eyes will have seen them before they reach yours. Yours. The idea of that seems completely foreign to me. But by now you’ve received my gift as I’ve received yours.

Today I heard my own voice for the first time in over ten years. Darling what have you done? I’ve been given the precious gift of sound and you’re the one to thank. They tell me this is true but it can not be.
My kindest angel, how could you have done this? I can’t fathom the idea of what’s happened only that I will now be able to hear your beautiful song with my own ears.

The simple suggestion that I’ll hear your voice sends excitement throughout me. How did you manage my darling? A new song? You work too much. Or did your family help? Please send them word. I’m without the proper ability to convey my gratitude and can only anticipate my return to your side. It’s where I belong. Where I belong to you.

Our life together has been rich in so many ways that I can only attempt to visualize how it was while I’m away. That visualization is a pale shade of grey in comparison to reality. And the awareness that I can no longer create. There is no pretending that this burden of recovery becomes harder to bear without you everyday. As time draws nearer I realize that this time apart is no more than a breath in the long scope of our life together.

My darling, it is my hope that you’re now opening your eyes to the world. A world that you once expressed to me you wished to see through my eyes. To experience through my paintings. And now you will see things the way I do everyday. A world you make more beautiful with your existence. An existence that has inspired me to paint for many years. And despite that continued beauty there will be no more paintings.

Darling I hesitate to say but there is more. Understand that your gift was not an easy thing to acquire and there was a considerable fee. It was worth the price. Two hands. On the market a pair of ordinary hands might get a decent fee. But the skilled tools of an artisan are worth the price of sight. Darling, don’t be cross. In time I hope you can forgive me for my selfishness. Please realize that I only wanted to give you the world. And now you have it. Promise me the sound of your song when I return. It’s what keeps me focused in this breath of time without you.

You have my love. Victor.



#2


Victor.

My Love. By now you can hear me. I’ve taken the liberty of recording this message along with enclosing a written transcription.

You’ve been away far too long. Long enough for me to make this decision without you. This reminds me of the last time you left for work. Taking the scent of paint and canvas with you when you left for many months. Instantly I knew something was wrong during your time away.  I couldn’t see the possibility of your work taking you away for so long. And I was right. It wasn’t work. You were in trouble. Though I was surprised by your extended absence, I was relieved to hear of your survival and that your thoughts were occupied with me. Somehow you returned to me despite the odds. Then like now, it’s quite impossible to believe you’ve thought of me as I’ve thought of you. Yet I know you have. And now as I know, you must know what I’ve done. And soon you’ll hear the news…

There are no words to express my appreciation for your gift. You have surprised me. How is this possible? Two days ago I opened my eyes for the first time in my life to look upon the world. Amazed by a world I’ve never known. Sight was something I’d only experienced in my mind. The visual beauty of the world could only be imagined in dream. With your wonderful gift I’m able to experience something I may have never seen on my own. What did you sacrifice? I’m overjoyed at the implications of this gift. My only disappointment is that you’re not here with me to share in this joy.

Our life together has been filled with so much joy. It’s hardly fair that we have so much when others have so little. Before I continue please realize that our joy will remain prosperous. Like our flourishing joy there is much music in this world. And your paintings should be inspired by it. I can only hope that you will understand that my part in the music will be no more. There will always be the recordings and videotapes. It’s an acceptable loss to bear when we have so much joy in other places.

Since you know what I’ve done, you must know there is a price. There’s no easy way to approach this. I can’t keep secrets from you. My voice will be gone before you return. The tongue of a Soprano carries more weight in currency than that of a waitress. Certainly enough to provide the gift of sound. Understand that it wasn’t my desire to keep this arrangement from you. I only did because of the cost. A price you never would have allowed me to pay had you known. Before you rise quick to anger, remember that the world is no longer shrouded in mystery for either of us. Our joy will be endless when you return to me.

My love is with you. Nola.



Letters. Gifts. What’s the price? The truth in giving is based by your actions. Words have meaning and power, but only by their actions. Actions have meaning and power by their realization. Money can provide material and comfort. But it can not change the most basic of needs for everyone. Some need when we do not need. What you give another person is of yourself. It’s not for what is coming next. Giving is selfless. Enjoy. kisses. m.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Away. (#3)

Away. (#3)

Darling Mia,

It’s been a while since I’ve last sent word. There’s not much to do about that. They don’t seem to understand how worried it will make you if I don’t drop a few words. So I persist in my efforts until they can not resist. Can you deny a dying man’s last request? That’s what I told them before getting my way once more. And they always give it to me in the end.  Just takes a little finesse. And you know your old man has got a bit of charm tucked away for such occasions.

My darling, if you’re still waiting for me to come? You don’t have to. And I know you won’t listen to me. You rarely do. But there’s money on the way. And I won’t hold it against you if you decide to take the money and run. Mia, I’m an old man. You don’t need to waste your tears on me. You’re very sweet to have continued on this way but you mustn’t allow this to stop you from living. I know you never listen, but please don’t think I want to deprive you of anything. You should be enjoying life. Darling, things aren’t looking up right now. They tell me that I’m not returning home anytime soon. Time and time again they’ve informed me that there’s no chance for it. Especially since what is to come. Another bend in the road.

The big news is that I’m being deployed again. Just kidding, this rat’s moving cages once again. I hear that the new cage hasn’t got the same charm as the last but they tell me that the food improves. There’s a chance that the testing will become a bit more invasive. The last group of men ended up in the quarantine ward for observation after the first round. Two groups prior had a chemical rejection to the treatments. They give me their word that the hill continues to steepen. And there’s not much more to go by than their word. I know you’ll agree that words don’t carry much weight in the end but that’s all they’ll give me.

I’m sorry these little notes aren't much to go by. I’ve only got your last letter to keep me company. It carries the smell of your touch with it. It’s grows difficult to handle it as the scent diminishes with every touch of my hand.

I can’t stop thinking of what you said before it happened and it continues to weigh on me. I can not ask of you to put your life on hold. Move ahead without me. If there's a way I will find you and home will be wherever you are. But I can’t ask you to wait. I know what you’ll say and you say it every time. You won’t because you know I don’t want you to. And you’re right, so very right, I don’t want you to go without me. But you must. Despite what they tell me, even with this deep down belief that I’ll be on my way home again soon I can't ask it of you. Every time I think that it’s too much to endure, I too, realize that it’s far more unbearable without you. I suppose that’s why we both continue. I will love you always as you have loved me. Please realize our short time together was not in vain. 

I only wished to convey this message before heading out. I can’t imagine why you would waste your love on an old wretch like me, only that I’m the luckiest old wretch for all that love.  Keep on loving me the same way I will keep on loving you. Darling my life would have been unbearable without you, as I can not remember what life was like before you were in mine. 

Rylent.


Letters. Away. Three. A little different than before. Still letters nonetheless. Is love a mistake? Not if you would do it again. How do you perceive mistakes? Are they wastes of time? Are they all failures? Depends on how you see it. Nothing is a mistake if you would do it again. Everything is worth the mistake in the end. How will you know what works for you unless you take the time to make them now and again? Have to be brave enough to face the chance of failure. There is more truth in failing than anything else. Develop an instinct for what works best for you and let no one interfere in that vision. Anyhow… digressed. have a great night. enjoy! kisses. m. 

Away. (#2)

Away. (#2)

John, I write these words with a deep breath and a heavy heart.

Although it made no sense when they came for you, it now brings me a great deal of grief to understand the circumstances that have kept you away. Each moment that you are away brings me closer to knowing a life without you in it. There are too many people with too many answers. Something about all these answers never complete the questions asked. Their words run in circles. It can not be changed or helped.

Please John, do not stay longer than you are needed. By word of their news indicates that you are of assistance to a greater cause. A cause that… its importance fully escapes me although I understand that there could be nothing more important than helping the people. That is why it pains me to hear a contradiction in their words that this only a means for extermination. The media provides a contradiction to their words yet they keep saying them to me while you are away. The people march and rally against the cause, and your work for it. ‘People need cures for diseases, not cures for living’ is what the signs read as they picket the street. The voices of opposition continue to reinforce that your work is meant to divide instead unite and ultimately exterminate the unwanted masses.

I can’t help but question the intent in their higher purpose when I hear these words backing the revolutionaries cause. This speaks of dissent in the governmental structure and the deep need to control the masses. The impact of the media divides the masses into factions.  There is word of the bombings in the Southern Regions and I can not understand what that has to do with your work. Or why these people would die to eliminate a cure? How could an honest man be responsible for the monstrous crimes they’ve accused you of? The work was helping others. The alkalizing agent couldn’t hurt anyone. It was an identifier. All of these circumstances make no connection to a larger threat.

And John, it gives me no pleasure to share with you that things have grown dire for the others involved. There’s been no word for Ana. Alfred seems to have vanished completely after his arrest at the lab. She looks even weaker since their son began treatments for the sickness. John, they’ve sentenced the others and their families to death without trial. Adam’s wife and daughters were sent out two days after he…

My love, I worry for your future and I won’t speak of this further. Your last message indicated that you are well. I can only hope this to be true in that it does more damage to hear that you are in pain.

Love, find the strength to endure and make it home. To us. Your family. Our daughters. They’ve grown so much since you’ve been away. Greta has practically leaped into three more inches in the last six months. Addie our little bookworm, she’s teaching the baby to read. It sounds impossible, but Nola is actually picking up quickly. The two spend hours reading together beneath the old shade tree. John, they are beautiful and you are missing too much. I can not bear to think that they continue to grow without knowing you. There’s only hope that will return you home quickly. The time that you were here is almost a distant memory.

John, while you are away know that I love you and our life will come back together. We can look forward to the days when you are home once again. There will be many to look ahead to.

Gretchen.

Letters. Away. #2. When you’re away, do you write home? Oh yes emails. But let’s think outside of that.  How about letters or postcards? Can you remember the last post you received the old fashioned way? On occasion I still correspond via letter. It’s lovely. Postcards are fun too, but that is for another time. Life has a funny way of keeping you away from what you need to be doing on occasion. Instead of fighting with it, go along for the ride. Enjoy it. You never know what may happen. Enjoy. kisses. m. 

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Away. (#1)

Away. (#1)

My Darling Arthur,

Please don’t let them find this letter. They can not know more about our circumstances. We are already being watched more than is necessary. It’s imperative that you do nothing to compromise yourself further. Stay hidden. You must stay hidden. I can’t imagine losing you after all of this again.

Forgive me. I’ve broken the last promise you asked of me. Today I shot and killed a man under orders. Orders that I whole heartedly disagree with. And in doing so I broke that promise to you. All life is precious and this man was great. He was teaching the people how to read and understand the world. He wasn’t from the Faction. His words spoke only of knowledge instead of a need for control or manipulation. This man reminded me of you. Something about his kindness and bravery for the others that touched my heart the same way you do everyday. The music isn’t the same without you in my life. Our beautiful music that can only be made complete when we are together.

Please do not hold back anything from me. In these fights there can be no balance. No agreement found. I can not find fault with your past and you can not stop my future. The moments we’ve spent in disagreement only tear at our harmony. These things that I must do are not in vain. They are making me a stronger… a better soldier. There will be a time when this can all be different for a purpose. I will never… the tests, the monitoring, and the treatments can not stop the love that I have for you. Do not think that any part of this will change how I feel.

Arthur, it doesn’t get any easier without you. This distance is unbearable without your touch. You are my strength. I don’t know how much longer I can stay away. It’s been twelve days and the sickness only grows stronger in my bones. I can’t stomach the thought of losing you over this but there’s no other way. It will consume me in the end. The doses are less each day, but the sickness remains. The only peace I find is through your music. I haven’t lasted this long on my own. Without your sounds I doubt I would have the strength to move forward. The sounds of your creations bring me so much comfort. It’s in those fleeting moments of chaos that I am most calm because the music brings me home when there is nothing.

I’ve been listening to the piece you composed on our first trip to the Cardinal Islands together. It was a lullaby that was never meant for sleep. Those long nights spent talking with your hands upon the keys of the piano. Listening to the sounds of the lullaby meant for the waking moments. Do you remember how you told me that ...? I’m sorry I can not recall the exact words. The treatments are changing my thoughts around. I can't seem to focus for very long on the memories. The times we are apart aren’t worth anything compared to the richness in our life spent together.

Arthur it’s only a matter of time before this all changes. I need you to know that I would choose to be there with you instead of here. Do not doubt me, my love. Darling, leave me word that these small messages reach you. I wish that they were more than mere words. 

Arthur, please leave me more music. It is all I ask. It is in your music that I’m closest to you.

Michael Ashleigh.


Letters. Away. Approaching this set a little different. Going to drop the rest over the next 24. And thinking of Matisse again. Letting it stand. Not much else. Sorting through resurfaced lost notes and thinking of the Beatles. Please, by all means ask if you like! just... Enjoy. Kisses. m. 

Sunday, October 10, 2010

10x10x10.

10x10x10.

#1

10x10x10. That’s the size of it. Your box. Your new home. They’ll tell you it’s much smaller than that before telling you that you won’t ever see the outside of it again. It’s hard to get used to a room without windows. Don’t worry. You’ll get out more often than you’d like to. And it’s no bigger and no smaller than 10x10x10. Go on. Walk around. Push the mat against the wall and count the steps.

You’re probably scared. I was scared the first time they put me in the box too. Are you wondering who I am? Bet you are. I would be. My name is Maggie. But everyone calls me Mags. But it’s not really important. They’ve given me a number. Just like you. I am the same age as you and the same size. Most likely the same blood type as well. We all started in the box. Those of us that have survived this far. You will survive. And don’t worry about your mom and dad. You’ll see them soon.

Keep doing what you’re told and you’ll see them. You’ve been told about the letters. We’ve all been told to write them. Those aren’t the ones they send to your family. You can write them anyway but they send ones that tells your parents how great it has been. Do you remember? This awful place is supposed to be someplace nice. Don’t worry. You won’t be here longer than you’re supposed to be. Look under the paneling along the far wall. I’ve marked off the days. 6 weeks. The last is today.

If you’re still scared. It’s ok to be. They won’t leave you in the box for long. And at least you can walk around. When they take you, cause they will take you, there are tests. The tests won’t be hard or physical and you won’t be alone. There’s always another one with you. Like you in almost every way. The other like me, his name is Dax. He looks tired all the time. We don’t talk during the test, only afterwards. In the room where they leave us before there is more tests. You know this isn’t the worst of it. There are others. But it’s not like this. At least your parent’s know you’re here. And that sometime you will go home. It’s very different for us.

How different? It’s much worse for the others. They aren’t the same. There’s no hope of going home for them. I met one once. She was left in my box by someone who wanted to hide her. He told me that she was leaving and to take care of her. She wasn’t like the others. Someone on the outside kept looking for her. She was much younger than you or me and much smaller. So sad that she didn’t remember her name. Only the number. 55-77223.

Tiny number carved into her arm among the marks. The marks on her arms were infected and beneath her skin lay thin lines of color, a visible reminder of tiny veins. At the base of her light brown hair line, length cropped short, was a fresh wound where something had been attached. One of their experiments. She told me about her box and the others that died in theirs. The one with her and the younger ones.

I don’t know much about them. Only that the younger ones are picked up like strays. No better than kittens in the streets waiting to be found. Left in small boxes only large enough to kneel and sit in. The stray I met was different though, cause in the end someone came for her. I don’t know what happened after she left. But I know it isn’t the same for the others. They don’t leave.

If it makes you feel better, I’m glad you found my note. That I’m helping you by leaving this and you’ll know what’s to come after finding it. You aren’t alone anymore. You will see that soon. It’s time that I go. I don’t know that I will remember any of it or if you will later, but at least you will find a way to get through it. Good luck. Survive. Mags.


#2

Hey Mom and Dad!

How’s everything at home? Are you guys ok? Is Grant still being a pest? He can’t help it. Tell lil bro to knock it off. Sorry it’s been a couple weeks since I wrote. But I miss you guys this week a lot. Camp is still great! And I’m glad you made me come. This week has been really nice. We’ve been indoors on the computers a lot less this week and spending most of the day outside. It’s pretty nice learning about outdoor things. I learned how to climb a tree a couple days ago and I was in the foot race yesterday. My partner in the foot race is a boy named Dax. We didn’t win but it was a lot of fun. Dax knows three languages and is teaching me words from each of the languages. He has been working with me to create a computer program about languages. Oh and about my room. They moved our rooms around after my last letter. In the new room, they let me have my own bunk and my roommates are all the same age as me. One girl even came as far as Georgia to be here. She is so smart with the harmonics in the computer. She can match the sounds with the vibrations in the programming. It’s been interesting. I don’t feel ready to come home yet. And it’s coming quick. Can you believe it’s been a month now? There are so many things to share. But it’s time for dinner. Will write again soon. Hope you guys are ok! Don’t miss me too much! Tell Grant that big sis says HI after you tell him to knock it off. Miss you guys again! Love, Mags.



Letters. Not much to say except… Happy 10-10-10! How’s your day been? Was it everything you thought it would be? enjoy. kisses. m. 

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Strangers.

Strangers. (in four)

#1.

September 1st

Mama I met a man today. He weren’t like no other man I’d met before. Told me I was a pretty girl and that it wasn’t proper for me to be living how I am. Told me he was going to help me out if I wanted to help myself. Promise to me that he’d see this letter finds you. And oh mama he told me, I ought to get back home to y’all as soon as I was able to. Mama I’m so scared on my own. And I don’t know how to get back to the house without help. It’s been too long and all that I done was so very wrong. Without you there’s no where else to go in this world for me.

September 22nd

Mama its been three weeks now that I’ve been talking to this man and he tells me that it’s important I make amends with you and get back home. See this man he is so very generous not like the other. He wasn’t the least bit worry about my kind when he stopped on the street that day and that were peculiar cause people like him don’t usually stop. Not to talk to me. And he wanted to talk to me. Cause see here’s the thing, I’m sick. Mama, I’m real sick and I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you about these things as a little girl. But there’s no other way I can survive on my own without living like this. And this man, he tells me that he knows all this. Says that the lady at the hospital told him about my sickness cause I go in three times a week for medicine. It feels so good when they have enough medicine and they don’t always.

September 30th

Mama the man that visits me gives me the medicine and then he tells me not to worry about getting more. He has arranged a place for me to stay in. It’s a shelter that is on Fifth Street by the hospital. It’s the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. Mama he tells me that he’s given you my letters and that you are reading them and that I should continue. Mama, are you still mad at me? Why haven’t you responded? Please Mama, they tell me I don’t have a lot of time left now. They keep telling me that the sickness is progressive and degenerative. I don’t know what it means, but I know that there isn’t much time left. Although they tell me that I’m not dying, I can’t help thinking this is almost over now. The pain is constant and the pills are the only thing that makes it hurt less. The man keeps insisting that I stay and take the pills. I know I can’t change your feelings, it’s just that the only thing I regret was leaving home. Leaving you. Please let me come home now. I don’t want to die here, alone. I love you. Goodbye.

#2.

September 15th

Charles, my dearest child

It’s been nearly thirteen years since I’ve written a note or letter to anyone, but there’s a man that tells me it’s something that is necessary in my present state of affairs. He’s been staying in the home for two weeks now and talking to this younger child about her condition. I doubt he’s completely illuminated the situation for her. She’s is going to die soon. He’s been encouraging her to write to her family as a means of closure. Promises that her letters will reach home before too long and never tells her that no one cares where she’s at or how she is doing. It’s in that lesson that I’ve decided to talk with you. Since I’ve been in this home for the dying I’ve seen too many come and go without leaving behind something for their loved ones. In this, I feel it is necessary for you to understand my choices in this life. It was never through a lack of love or understanding that I chose this path over you. You can not think that I wanted to sell myself over having a life with you and your mother. Please listen, these people that have come across my path haven’t been all bad, but they aren’t all good either. You can’t think the conditions of my lifestyle were any better or worse than your own. However understand this is not a choice I want for you. I am a product of my own greed and necessity to want instead of give. Do not make the same mistake as I. The value of selling your skin is less than the price of a hot meal or a warm bed for the night. Yes, your body is your skin. Skin is merely skin in the end. In the dark, that’s all they care about. There’s nothing more to be said when skin is all they want. And now that I’m old and aging faster my only asset is fading quickly. It’s not your mind they will want in the dark end of the bargain it’s just the skin. Mine is now the color of rotting blood and continually deteriorating thanks to this disease. A choice I’ve made that is now illuminated for many to see and judge me by it. I will gladly take their prejudice and yours. Anything to prevent others from following my path. Charles, my son, please do not come to my grave or mourn my life. As your father it’s all I can ask of you. I’ve no regrets my son. It is in the example of my failed life that I hope that I’ve affected others and helped them to change. There’s no comfort in the end other than knowing that someone else can find the peace and comfort that I could not for so very long. Make certain that every price you pay in this life is worth the cause you believe in. Look after your mother. With love. Goodbye son.

#3.

September 8th

JJ you bastard where have you been? You’re the last friend I knew before I was dying. Dying like this by the hand of the substance I profited from. Tell me JJ, are you alive or did you drain out from the pureness of the substance? If you’re alive then you should know where I’m at. At this house of dying and soon dead. Not that it matters, but there’s a man with a few words that remind me to say my goodbyes to anyone that will listen. He gives you the pills to forget the pain if you write these letters. It hurts like hell so I write. I’ve written to anyone and everyone who will listen.

Filthy whores. Beautiful madonnas that I pretended to love. Men that wanted but had nothing to give for it. Then came the ones in the end that will let you down the worst if you let them. The ones sometimes called family. Selling. Buying. Trading. Almost never do you trade something for nothing. Skin is nothing. I can’t see the point in this. But… Don’t get me wrong it was fun all those years with the price of it all. But my substance came more and more with willingness than intent. Until it became a sole purpose to hurt them. Maniacal in pursuit to destroy anyone and everyone that I dealt with. Where does this pursuit involve my past and my future death? The past is where I’ve damned everyone to follow into my death and the future where I have to try to stop the destruction from coming by any means.

In the end begins the question of what matters most. The profit or the price of that profit. My enterprise is my addiction and soon my death. I can only do right by those that are left. If I can’t stop this from coming then I’ve damned not only myself but anyone else who followed. The man with the price of peace hands me more and more paper and all I can do is try to make right by these words that are left behind. JJ there is nothing left of my empire. I can not leave you money or substance to work with.

Please stay alive and work with me to find the others before it is too late. The addiction is unstoppable. It can not be appeased. A child in this death house passes slowly by the hand of my sin. Her body wastes away by the price of this disease. I‘ve sent out a thousand of these messages. The man swears that at least one person will get the message and find a way to warn the others. I need another pill and he needs another letter. Another hour and then another before the pills run out and I fall victim to the disease I help to spread in my blind pursuit of greed. JJ, please be well in your remaining life. I hope more than any of the other messages that this reaches you alive without the disease and able to find peace without the addiction. Take Care. Friend. Goodbye.

#4.

This is sometimes called a death house. It is hospice. A place for the dying to pass in quiet. In this place there is a hope for hopeless without another place to go. There is no other bargain for them to make. Only to reach out one last time. When they come here I tell them to release themselves from the past. Reach to those from your life in some manner. Send your past filled with these ones a small note. Let them see that you confess your crimes. Then and only then can I provide for your suffering. Life is significant. Big or small. This makes no difference to the reaper. These are deadly times and I can not help those who do not want to be saved. Take another pill. Tell the others not to worry. Here in this place there is no modern medicine to stop the crimes against humanity. To stop the damage that these people have caused each other in this life. I tell the frightened child who left her home in haste to ask her mother for forgiveness. I insist that the man who prostituted himself to the very depths of depravity for a few dollars to seek contrition from the family he abandoned. I beg the profiteer of disease to try and put an end to the spread of his destruction before his own hand removes the life he no longer wishes to live. They suffer by their own choices and are consumed by the pains of their slow death. There is no redemption for them in the end of this life only the hope of peace before it comes. I can only help to provide these small tokens that bring little comfort. There is no true cure for this. I can see them clothed, sheltered and medicated but nothing more. This is but a small act that when their acts are far larger in retrospect.



Letters. Strangers. Friends. Aren't we all. All interconnecting in this fishbowl called the world. Anyhow... currently have the feeling as though I've neglected one thing for another which is never the case. There's more to come. Owe you another excerpt... which for all intensive purposes I've been paring down due to content. To censor or not? That is the current question... Not to worry. Enjoy. kisses for those you love and the strangers you don't. m.