The lost art of letterwriting
Hand writing letters to another person has become obsolete, thanks to the soul killing age of information.
Don't you miss the exhilaration of an envelope coming out of the mailbox, a slightly scuffed pearl of white paper formed in part by its journey to the little black oystershell on the front of the house? Collecting these precious pieces into a string on a timeline where each one has a slightly different hue and different memory of the person who sent it to you, they are memento mori of moments long past. They are the elegies of persons you were, and of the relationships you had with other persons equally as past.
Recieving a letter is not just a snapshot of events, its a memorial of the soul. You now have a record of who this person is and how you interacted with him or her at just that era. You are a witness to another persons existence. The texture of the paper, the slant of the script, the colour of the ink - all these things instantiate human existence in such a way that can never be replicated in any other media.
I cannot reconcile myself to the loss of my humanity due to the infliction of society on my existence. I insist on letters, long frantic descriptions of not just the life that's happening around me, but also the life that's flourishing in my head. Because there are only so many ways we can make that connection and because I miss myself and I miss you...Because I miss the feel of another soul reaching out for mine in any way to breach the isolation of this situation.
Because I want a witness to my existence, and a memorial to my soul.
Don't you miss the exhilaration of an envelope coming out of the mailbox, a slightly scuffed pearl of white paper formed in part by its journey to the little black oystershell on the front of the house? Collecting these precious pieces into a string on a timeline where each one has a slightly different hue and different memory of the person who sent it to you, they are memento mori of moments long past. They are the elegies of persons you were, and of the relationships you had with other persons equally as past.
Recieving a letter is not just a snapshot of events, its a memorial of the soul. You now have a record of who this person is and how you interacted with him or her at just that era. You are a witness to another persons existence. The texture of the paper, the slant of the script, the colour of the ink - all these things instantiate human existence in such a way that can never be replicated in any other media.
I cannot reconcile myself to the loss of my humanity due to the infliction of society on my existence. I insist on letters, long frantic descriptions of not just the life that's happening around me, but also the life that's flourishing in my head. Because there are only so many ways we can make that connection and because I miss myself and I miss you...Because I miss the feel of another soul reaching out for mine in any way to breach the isolation of this situation.
Because I want a witness to my existence, and a memorial to my soul.
posted by Vita at 12:33 a.m.
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