#personal letters

[un-fig-ettable]

urgh I am PEEVED off ,okay!

[thinkingimages]

Rong Rong & Inri, Personal Letters, 2000. © Rong Rong & Inri

[whisperingletter]

Not all love declares itself. Some drift silently, like a secret pressed between pages, arriving in the hush of a sigh and the quiet stroke of a pen. www.whisperingletters.com

[the-ivoryyx]

A letter hidden away by cowardice

I love you, I love you so much it makes my heart feel like it's gonna tear apart. I love the way I love you, and yet I still hate it so much. I still remember the aching memories, the way you spoke those lyrics, tilting your head a little while you sat on the floor, your soft voice still echoes in the deepest parts of my mind. My favourite colour is blue, it reminds me of you, reminds me of the letter you wrote once, the words carved into my heart. I hate this, I hate how a single song can throw me into this spiralling feeling of all consuming love. I love you and I hate it.

[kemregik]

I've come to realize that I hate you not because I think you're stupid, but because you're one of the most emotionally intelligent people I know and somehow this doesn't give you the ability tell when you're being emotionally manipulated.

How is it that you can spend all of five minutes speaking with someone to discern with incredible accuity when and how they're being abused or manipulated, but you can't tell that your partner is cheating on you? How is it that you can experience deep, intimate moments of empathy towards the suffering of others but not notice when someone is engineering your social interactions? How is it that you can synthesize complex commentary on the musings of political figures but you can't tell when the news media you watch is produced with spin and bias?

I find it incredible that you can view people so critically and with such fine resolution, but you cannot see the rest of the world with the same. Like a strange psychological near-sightedness, where scrutiny becomes exponentially harder to apply the more detached you are from the manipulation in question. This would overshadow your duplicitousness if I hadn't been a direct target of it, making me unsure that others who have not yet seen what you have shown me are aware that the rest constitutes a pattern. It may be that this one facet is the thread that sews this pretentious quilt of "quirks" (I'm using this in the pejorative, take that as you will) you call a personality.

I might hate more that I can even dedicate words to you on the matter, given how you behave. Nevertheless, the River Vitriol—least serene of all nature's gems—demands that the dam give way, and so it does. Maybe I wouldn't care if I hadn't gotten so close. Maybe what I saw before was a trick of the light, and what I see now is what's always been.

Maybe I just hate you.

[careereducationsuccessnow]

Take a look at this post… 'Why Everyone is in Learning Spree of State of the Art Techniques of Drafting Personal Letters to Develop- Interpersonal Relationships?'.

http://careereducationsuccessnow.blogspot.com/2024/03/why-everyone-is-in-learning-spree-of.html

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[donutsandbagels]

From Thomas Jefferson to Maria Cosway, 13 October 1786

To Maria Cosway

Paris Octob. 13. 1786

My Dear Madam

Just as I had sealed the inclosed I received a letter of a good length, dated Antwerp, with your name at the bottom. I prepared myself for a feast. I read two or three sentences: looked again at the signature to see if I had not mistaken it. It was visibly yours. Read a sentence or two more. Diable! Spelt your name distinctly. There was not a letter of it omitted. Began to read again. In fine after reading a little and examining the signature, alternately, half a dozen times, I found that your name was to four lines only instead of four pages. I thank you for the four lines however because they prove you think of me. Little indeed, but better a little than none. To shew how much I think of you I send you the inclosed letter of three sheets of paper, being a history of the evening I parted with you. But how expect you should read a letter of three mortal sheets of paper? I will tell you. Divide it into six doses of half a sheet each, and every day, when the toilette begins, take a dose, that is to say, read half a sheet. By this means it will have the only merit it’s length and dulness can aspire to, that of assisting your coëffeuse to procure you six good naps of sleep. I will even allow you twelve days to get through it, holding you rigorously to one condition only, that is, that at whatever hour you receive this, you do not break the seal of the inclosed till the next toilette. Of this injunction I require a sacred execution. I rest it on your friendship, and that in your first letter you tell me honestly whether you have honestly performed it.—I send you the song I promised. Bring me in return it’s subject, Jours heureux! Were I a songster I should sing it all to these words ’Dans ces lieux qu’elle tarde à se rendre’! Learn it I pray you, and sing it with feeling.—My right hand presents it’s devoirs to you, and sees with great indignation the left supplanting it in a correspondence so much valued. You will know the first moment it can resume it’s rights. The first exercise of them shall be addressed to you, as you had the first essay of it’s rival. It will yet, however, be many a day. Present my esteem to Mr. Cosway, and believe me to be yours very affectionately,

X

[familiarquotation]

”Oh, well we could talk all night and have a good time and eat pizza and drink wine and by God we will when I get travelin money. Meanwhile, sweetie, be cool, be blessed, be relaxed, like roses in the rain here I see out my window right now.”

Jack Kerouac, in a letter to Carolyn Cassady, 1954