Dear Reader — a field note

I’ve been writing letters again. I appreciate this activity which slows my mind, takes me away from anything digital, and I enjoy cursive.

Letters are on a different pace. They require movement amplifying the gestures of my fingers. They hide the labor of me walking to the post office box and the workers moving that letter from my neighborhood to your door. Letters hold intimacy. The everyday can be a spectacle in a letter.

So reader, here is a letter to you:

Transcription of the image text above, written on a single piece of lime green paper.

Dear Reader-

In this body feeling the recently drunk coffee penetrate the edges of my blood stream — fingers and toes. I’ve been reading about Ron Athey this morning trying to sit up straight in my chair, but continuing to slouch. My left butt cheek taking more weight. My neck tightening. I roll my neck over my shoulders & it crack from the unhealthy positions I have been placing it in. I hear a voice down two flights of stairs — I believe it to be my partner. However, it could just be a stranger walking by as my house is a corner house. I hear an ambulance siren in the distance. I scratch my head with my left hand & tune my ears to outside & hear some birds songs from the oak tree behind the house. I stand up and open the window. I notice the sun spots on our old orange/peach colored couch that we bought for cheap at an auction. I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. I’m sitting mainly on my left butt cheek again & already. I readjust. I do have my wallet in my back right pocket. I take my wallet out and set it on the table.

thomas xoxo.