Dear Mother Directional,
It’s been years since the last time my toes were in the sand. I think this is something that I need to prioritize. This way, I can face the ocean and stare out to the sea and say “Ah.”
I think we need more times like this. We need more time to say “Ah” and more times when we can find a moment of relief.
Dear Mother Directional,
I have not shared this idea with anyone. At least, not yet. These letters I write to you are to be held by you with hopes that somewhere, somehow, someone can make sense of this. Maybe then we can understand more about this thing we call life. I am not sure where or when life actually begins. I am not sure if this is at birth or if life begins our rebirth throughout the years. I believe there is a way people can be reborn or at least born again under a new sign or awakened into a new light. I know that this might sound like some religious garble. But no, I think we live each day. I think we are reborn several times and I think we die just as much.
Continue readingDear Cousin Contagious,
I think that you would understand this letter more than anyone else which is why I am sending this to you instead of Mother Directional or Father Correctional. First, I want to let you know that regardless of our location or positions in life, I think that you and I can relate on a few things.
I suppose Sister Serenity might understand and perhaps Brother Exceptional would too but there is something different about us.
I am of the belief that there is something different about a person who comes with lived experience. There’s something beneficial about sharing our thoughts or feelings with someone who understands the smell of the Earth or the vomit that occurs after a bad day’s night.
Dear Mother Directional,
Father Correctional has been on my mind lately. And albeit true, I am thinking about the way I was taught to be and how I was trained to live. I have been considering the blueprints of my life and the plans that I have followed. As well, I have been sifting through my thoughts about my honesty – and honestly, I wonder how truthful we are about the life we live.
What I mean is there’s a question that we ask each other. And we ask this often. It’s a simple question too. But as simple as this is, no one ever answers this honestly. At least, not mostly. The questions we ask when we see each other are interesting to say the least.
We’ll ask “how are you” or “how’ve you been,” but how often do we answer this with an honest response?
Dear Mother Directional,
It’s amazing to think about how crazy we can make ourselves. And it’s amazing to think about all the times we’ve wished that we could just be happier or that we can live better.
I have come to the realization that there is only so much that the mind can take. We have so much room in our hearts and whether we fill our hearts (or the mind) with happiness or grief, you can never exceed more than 100% of total capacity.
Dear Uncle Achiever and Auntie Believer,
My apologies. It has been a long time since my last letter. But either way, I hope that this letter finds both of you at a good time and that both of you are doing well.
So much has changed yet many things are still the same. I suppose this is something that happens over the years. We grow older. We learn. We forget and, somehow we find ourselves at a moment when we are reintroduced to our true selves.
Dear Mother Directional,
So much can happen in the span of just one day. We can wake up and find ourselves on the other side of the bed. The sun can be up and the sky is blue. We can open the door to the rest of our lives and, just as simple, we can walk right through. There’s no worries about the past. There’s no concern about the future. There’s nothing else but the freedom of the here and now. Suddenly, we’re on our way. We’re out the door and the speeches we’ve practiced or the things we’d swore we’d say on the way out are simply meaningless. Nothing holds us back anymore. No fear. No worries about money or concerns about whether we have what it takes to make it in this whole new world.
Continue readingDear Mother Directional,
There’s been no word from Cousin Contagious since he last walked away from the world. But there is good news. Cousin led himself into a treatment facility. His only message to me was short but to the point. He wrote to me about the food, which is not the best and that the bed was not what he was used to. Plus, his roommate snores. So, there were a few times when Cousin had to go outside and sleep on one of the couches in the hallway.
Continue readingDear Mother Directional,
It appears a lot has happened to your city since your last visit. I am not sure you would recognize the place – or want to. I found myself in the old stomping grounds from when I was a young salesman in a suit and tie with a briefcase and a list filled with dreams. The Avenues are the same but much of the stores are different now. The side streets are almost ghost-like with phantom junkies nodding in doorways near 35th Street by 8th Avenue.
It was sad to see how open this is and how flagrant people are with their drug use, as in right there on the street – needles pushed in the veins of lost-eyed victims who pop-off into close-to-death space.
The following notes are all true yet, none of this is real or fact. Instead, the next chapters are written in letter form and will be cases of real fiction which have been taken from real life events and true accounts of life on life’s terms. None of the names are real. However, the emotions and feelings embodied in the upcoming letters are as real as they come.
This is not a test or a cry for help or a worried narrative from a young neurotic man who is lost and unable to find his way. Instead, this is a compilation of ideas, stories and concepts in which real life occurs.
The Written Addiction 