Hey you. 


You'll never guess what happened today: I woke up, it was Sunday, and the mangoes were far too ripe from all the heat they've been holding, so I put on some coffee and went to the mountain.

 I walked alone. My breath took the tempo of the path and the path took the tempo of my steps. I took a right and briefly arrived at a small waterfall before taking another right and a slight shuffle up to Indian's Rock.

What a view. It was sun-soaked again by the morning light, like icing. 

Here's what you didn't know: I've tried going up to that rock four times, and every time, I've found excuses not to. One, we can't find the entrance. Two, it's too late to go. Three, I have an appointment. Four, halfway is enough.

 But today, when I woke up, I didn't think about going or not going. I went.

Somehow all of this reminded me of you and all the ways in which you (subconsciously?) invoke Meryl Streep. Yes you do. Daily. Look: 1. both of you have thick, buttery, golden blonde hair 2. both of you are beautiful, and 3. both of you partially put blinders on to the things that conspire to hold you back, especially the ones in your head.*

That brings me to another important thing that happened today, according to my Facebook feed. You'll never guess, so I'll just tell you - it was Shakespeare's death. This also reminded me of you, because you act, and because I love you. The source, who prefers to remain unrevealed, says that it happened 399 years ago today, and she comes bearing a message from William himself, after the beep:

"love is blind, and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit."

Do you know where this is from? It's The Merchant in Venice. Jessica says it in a scene where she's dressed like a boy so she doesn't want bae to see her.

Isn't it nice how he calls it "pretty follies"?

I take it that Will was a wiseman because he saw the broad-stroke basics of how we take up space: we eat, we sleep, and we're prone to making mistakes. That's a given. But when we give in to the pull of our hearts, the prospects of these pitfalls lose their protagonism. We know how to keep our eyes on the prize so tightly, that we're blinded by that fixation. It's a whimsical and terrifying process, isn't it? 

So here's what I have to say to you, finally : If I had to write your obituary right now, I'd say that you've taught me tunnel vision at its finest. You were an extra on a film set that everyone told you not to approach under any circumstances, even fake ones; you bought a transatlantic plane ticket, on the spot, to attend an award ceremony that nobody thought you were going to; and you dropped out of acting school in the UK when you were cast to shoot a part in the Amazon. Your vision is so impaired, that I think you might have swallowed a tiny camera like Joan Didion. On her experience, she recalls:

"In the end I did swallow the very little camera, and the very little camera transmitted the desired images, which did not demonstrate what was causing the bleed but did demonstrate that with sufficient sedation anyone could swallow a very little camera."

What a gift. If I could fully master the art of lucid dreaming, I would follow you into the deep end - blindfolded, open handed, willing to feel my way through and get scraped by the jagged walls. 

Anyway. Keep invoking Meryl and don't stop until you reach Oscar, Tony, or whoever it is that you want. I'm watching you. (But not in a creepy way, or anything)

Love always, 


p.s. hey, guess what else.

p.p.s. ok, you'll never guess, so I'll tell you. I read an article today about how the West is starting to definitely be The Best and I immediately went scavenging on Craigslist for sublets in Echo Park. I think I'm craving Erewhon already, so please send snacks. 


Hello Papersoul