5/27/13: I’ve been writing a not-so-open letter to a someone as a cathartic & cleansing experiment. It’s a letter in a very strong voice that shouts in my brian forcefully & loudly as I dry my hair, get dressed, drive, workout, etc. It demands & insists & begs to be written.
But it’s just kinda sorta written. When the words are clear, powerful, and convincing… I am not writing. I’m seething and so far in my own head that I’ve never heard of a pen.
When I sit to write what was there, my conviction is less convicted. But the lure and impression of knowing what WAS in my head… and how drippy gorgeous it was in all its fury… well I think i have to wait for that power to return. And grab a pen!
Obviously I can’t sent it. And definitely not publicly. Well… I suppose there are circumstances where I would call the “last chance” bluff and say it as it is. Words published hit many ways, and words “out there” have a “ricochet rabbit” effect that can come around to haunt, taunt and, basically, backfire. #age #wisdom #experience #luckyforyou
So I write a post about a post that is a letter the people are not allowed to read. If I write to her everything that screams to me, maybe I can go back to a time of never having heard of her. After all, she just doesn’t matter.
Update 5/30/13: I wrote the letter. I wrote it all down. A delicious mix of innocence and evil.