Letter Writing Club: Sunday Afternoon

Jimmy Bastard · Post by **Jimmy Bastard** » Fri Jun 01, 2007 11:55 pm

hello
i have introduced a letter writing club to the forest
we will write between one and four each and every sunday
there will be a mini-library of collected letters provided
plus posh paper, envelopes and stamps

i wish solely to encourage the writing of letters

it's intended as a social endeavour
people should not be obliged to disclose their writings
to other writers

it works on a unspoken universal understood
we all prefer to receive the handwritten above the inbox

let's be excellent to each other
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if someone cares to continue this thread
please post up their favourite letter
my own is
ken tynan's to his wife
called night thoughts
i'll c and p
when i can place access to it

Jimmy Bastard · Post by **Jimmy Bastard** » Sat Jun 16, 2007 6:46 pm

A week is a long time in the Forest, write and tell someone, I will be in from one til three if anyone cares to join me.

“The easy possibility of letter-writing must -- seen merely theoretically -- have brought into the world a terrible disintegration of souls. It is, in fact, an intercourse with ghosts, and not only with the ghost of the recipient, but also with one's own ghost which develops between the lines of the letter one is writing and even more so in a series of letters where one corroborates the other and can refer to it as a witness. How on earth did anyone get the idea that people could communicate by letter! Of a distant person one can think, and of a person who is near one can catch hold -- all else goes beyond human strength. Writing letters, however, means to denude oneself before the ghosts, something for which they greedily wait. Written kisses don't reach their destination, rather they are drunk on the way by the ghosts. It is on this ample nourishment that they multiply so enormously. Humanity senses this and fights against it in order to eliminate as far as possible the ghostly element between people and create a natural communication, the peace of souls, it has invented the railway, the motorcar, the aeroplane. But it's no longer any good, these are evidently inventions being made at the moment of crashing. The opposing side is so much calmer and stronger; after the postal service it has invented the telegraph, the telephone, the radiograph. The ghosts won't starve, but we will perish.”

Franz Kafka

Jimmy Bastard · Post by **Jimmy Bastard** » Sat Jun 23, 2007 7:08 pm

Shall we say from three?
Sunday, 3 o'clock it is then...

'I look out over the black valley and have gloomy night-thoughts about the soul. Perhaps those who die unbelieving really do as atheists imagine it – like switching off of a light – while only those who have achieved the hard miracle of belief achieve the greater miracle of resurrection? That seems fair to me, but I am just as far from belief. I type this letter knowing that God may be watching and may give me a mark or two for trying, or at least caring, or at least seeming to care, or at least for being humble enough to confess to mere seeming'
Ken Tynan to Kathleen Tynan 21 May 1971

lucky · Post by **lucky** » Sat Jun 23, 2007 8:10 pm

I'm there!!!!!

So should you all be. Think of all those letters you've been meaning to write!

A*

Dandolo · Post by **Dandolo** » Sat Jun 23, 2007 8:50 pm

It's never too early to be thinking of what you're going to write to Korvatunturi, Suomi Finland this year. I'm coming too.

lucky · Post by **lucky** » Tue Jun 26, 2007 4:31 pm

Letter writing club was lovely, though I had to rush off for a bus. I would heartily suggest you all come and join in. You know the pleasure of recieving letters, go do!

A*

Jimmy Bastard · Post by **Jimmy Bastard** » Sat Jun 30, 2007 11:48 pm

"I say we are here in human form to learn by the human hieroglyphs of love and suffering. There is no intensity of love or feeling that does not involve the risk of crippling hurt. It is a duty to take this risk, to love and feel without defence or reserve' William /burroughs letter to Jack Kerouac

3PM Write On.

Jimmy Bastard · Post by **Jimmy Bastard** » Sun Jul 01, 2007 1:28 am

'Imagine the worst dog kennel you ever saw placed upon two poles from a mouldy fencing. In such a wretched thing sat a squalid old Woman squat like an ape half starved from a scarcity of Biscuit in its passage from Madagascar to the cape, - with a pipe in her mouth and looking out with a sort of horizontal idiotic movement of her head - squab and lean she sat and puff'd out the smoke while two ragged tattered Girls carried her along. What a thing would be a history of her Life and sensations.'
John Keats letter to his brother Tom

Letter Writing Club 3PM Sunday