Much interest in the midnight whiskey emails, it seems. I can see why. I want to read your mail, too. I want to rummage through your drawers and talk to people you know, ex-husbands and wives and lovers. I want to construct a version of you. And then I want to photograph you. We are all drawn to these peeps behind the curtain, glimpses through a window on a darkened night, sneaked glances through the crack of some barely opened door. That is what art gives us, or hopes to. Send me a note. Give me permission. We will conspire.
So the girl, the five-foot pixie and consort of gypsies, wrote back telling me she enjoyed my message. Said I seemed an interesting sort. I must write back and tell her that I am.
But for now, I am interrupted. The workman who is doing repairs to the house is here. I am drawn from fancy to the world where time and weather takes a toll, where ignored things fall apart. I will not tell the pixie that I am one of those things. Let's let her believe the other. It is good for her.
The difference is that I haven't made a public statement about the existence a string of what purports to be tantalizingly interesting emails. But fair is fair. Choose a date back to 2005, and I will post an email I wrote on that day, in return for every Buck Moon email you post. Deal?
ReplyDeleteI remember once when I was babysitting I went snooping through the bureau of the couple -- I found a polaroid instant photo of their private parts locked in private business. It was shocking and fascinating. I was about 13. I babysat almost every Saturday night till almost 3AM in the morning. Looking back I wonder if they were swingers as there was some evidence that went over my head at that point.
ReplyDeleteI will give you something to post if I haven't deleted it.
:-)
I was writing an email to a friend right after taking some meds and the whole mood of the letter went horribly awry as the pill kicked in. It degraded into an incomprehensible but intriguing rant about some priest with a monkey. I bet you'd like that one...
ReplyDeleteyes let the pixie believe the other. I had an admirer who was in love with me because he had seen some of my photographs and had created an image of me that try as I might I couldn't quite live up to. I mistakenly let him know I was a real person with flaws and he disapeared like the smoke from a dying fire. When will I learn?
Bureaucratist, You kidding? We'll become famous. Literary letters of a sort not written to one another. It could work. Might be brilliant. Let me think on it.
ReplyDeleteL, Boy were you lucky. Like finding treasure. Locked and private, though. You were very bad. Can't wait to see what you are sending (private parts?).
R, Welcome to my world. You will learn--every night.
Not kidding.
ReplyDelete