The Dear John experiment was born out of a desire to increase our willingness to share. As I encourage others to do so - to share some words with one another and become a little vulnerable - I attempt to do so myself. With the second series, To My Mother, A Love Letter, I seek to offer more of myself than before, and to increase my own vulnerability.
The distribution of the second series is slightly different than the first. In the hopes of inspiring neighborly participation, the letters were delivered in pairs to adjacent residences, one of the envelopes containing the letter in full and the second envelope missing the final page. Both of the letters contained notes, one that informed the bearer of the complete letter that their neighbor was lacking the conclusion, the second informing the resident who lacked the letter in its entirety that their neighbor could provide the rest.
Five letters have been pasted, only one of which is full-length. It can be found adorning the sides of a defunct pay phone in the Bywater, at Piety and Burgundy.
Four other letters are pasted on walls at corners near you, all of which are missing the final page. The final page, however, can be found at the end of the post beneath this one you are now reading.
A lone letter found its niche amongst other penned soliloquies, nestled between stationery and stamps in a virtual written-art warehouse at the corner of Royal and Dumaine.
Pasted in the hours of first light, the letters are anchored to their places with the most gelatinous, thick adhesive I have ever produced. Due to the batch's extreme viscosity, the letters are not sealed-over with a layer of clear paste, leaving them subject to simple destruction by the elements or at the hands of those unsympathetic to their message or existence.
Like myself, and perhaps like you, the letters, too, are more vulnerable this time.
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