Dear Whoever…, #67

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Dear Whoever Knows That Every Girl Thinks About Her Wedding At Least Once, If Not From Time To Time,     3-26-2012

“A woman seldom asks advice before she has bought her wedding clothes.” -Joesph Addison

“A wedding is like a funeral, except that you get to smell your own flowers.” -Grace Hansen

“I chose my wife, as she did her wedding gown, for qualities that would wear well.” -Oliver Goldsmith

Sorry for not posting very recently. I’ve been writing posts but they’re drafts and my computer is stupid and doesn’t show me my drafts. They look like they were typed in white font. Therefore, I’ve just been saving them till I can get to a library computer and post them all.

I have a plan, don’t worry. This has just been bouncing around in my head for awhile now because for some reason I’ve been thinking of my wedding a lot more lately then usual. It’s not because I’m approaching the age most people are getting married. I’m far from there believe me. No. I’ve been thinking of it because of something else which brings me to the next part of this post.

10

Dad,    3.26.12

I have a game today so I have to leave soon so I’ll try to hit what I want to say with few words. I cried for you last night. It was completely out of the blue. It just hit me. The fact I’ll never see your smile again. Or hear your jokes. Or listen to you tease me. Never hold me close again. Never ask me what’s the matter ever again. That I was alone. Without you. This isn’t exactly a new revalation for me but the way it hit me it might as well have been. It seemed so fresh. And even though I knew it was coming for years, it didn’t help. I thought about what it’d be like after you died, before you died. Then I thought how much I had underestimated. I thought I could be prepared but I never could have been. It’s impossible to be prepared for that sort of thing. I’ll never hear you chatising me again. I’ll never get one of those rueful looks or I’ll never be in on any of your little jokes again. Like the one where you told Mom we were getting 30more ducks and they’d be arriving tomorrow when she was at work, ain’t that right eshy? And I’d lie and add to the story and we’d keep it spinning. Those make me smile and sting my eyes at the same time when I look back on the ones I remember. Last night I also realized that my worst fear came true. I am forgetting you. Just like Kris. Although I tried my hardest to burn you into my memory. I’m forgetting a little of what you look like even though I’m exactly the same. I’m forgetting some of the memories with you and that made me cry the most last night. I knew before you died that you wouldn’t make it to my highschool graduation, or college, or my graduation in the military, if I choose that road, and my wedding. It always stung then but now it stings worse. It’s bad. It’s really painful. Almost like that one time I had that needle through my toe and you had to hold me down, but it’s worse then that.

I think I’ll have Sister as my maid of honor, she’ll be wearing blue. As will I. It’ll bring out our eyes that we inherited from you. Jeff D., your friend, and Lisa stopped by yesterday. It got me thinking as I have been ever since your memorial service, about who’s gonna walk me down the aisle because I know you won’t be able to. I thought of Jim B. I thought about Denny. I thought about Jeff. He’s been weird since you died. Different a little. Quieter. His little partner in mischief isn’t here to back his jokes or talk engines with him or talk about the old workplace with. I feel bad for him because he misses you. It’s obvious. I think I want Danny Whitt Danny Whitt to walk me down the aisle. I’ve always liked him. He’s been really good to you. He’s been good to us. Remember when we got the truck stuck last year on our last shooting expadition, and we called him and he helped us out. He’s offering to take me shooting again and I want to, I do. But it’s to fresh. Your death is too fresh even almost three months later.

I hope you’re at my wedding. Or at least looking down on it. Since you’re not gonna be there, who’s gonna try to talk me out of it? That was to evoke a rueful smile. I’d give anything to see your smile again. Just thinking of how I never will, I’m tearing up. Anywho, Dad, I better get on with getting ready cause I’ve got to leave soon. I love you. And I miss you a ton. Oh, one more thing. The Sister and Mom are spending a ton since you’ve gone. I think it’s to fill the void, I’m trying to warn them to stop but they don’t listen much to me. Mom’s been kinda reckless. It scares me. I don’t feel safe around anyone anymore without knowing you’re not here to back me up. I’ve been having haunted thoughts of that voicemail you left me 3 years ago on my first day of school at that new school. You said you hoped I had a good day and if I didn’t then it’d get better with time. To keep my chin up. And that you loved me. And you were sorry that you couldn’t be there and that you wished you were to pick me up from school. And it makes me sob. I cry a lot when I think of anything to deal with you, if ya haven’t noticed. I know you wouldn’t want me to but I can’t help it. I know crying isn’t gonna make the pain go away. It’s not gonna do anything. But it’s reflex now. But now I’m just making excuses, trying to prolong saying goodbye-again.

I got a new shrink. Rememeber I told you first that I was thinking about doing counciling and I told you why I was apprehensive? I do. But I got a new one and I like her alot better. I guess that’s the last bit of news I have. I’m on the soccer team if you didn’t gather that from me saying that I have games and practice all the time now. I remember telling you with much excitement that I made the volleyball team and you didn’t look suprised at all and said “I figured you would.” I wish you could see one of my games. I’ve got a very responsible spot. Right in front of our goalie. We’ve lost every game so far but we’re doing better then last year. I’m team captain you know. I hate it. I don’t get to do anything special but call the coin in the air and pick what side. Now I really have to get ready. My friend’s gonna show up cause we gotta take her to the game. With love, eshy,

 

Dear Whoever…, #60

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Dear Whoever Likes To Read My Letters,                                                                                                                             2.24.2012.

“A person who can write a long letter with ease, cannot write ill.” -Jane Austen

“A Train was born without any effort – if was like writing a letter to a friend.” -Billy Strayhorn

“Even when I have to write a simple letter I’m scared stiff as if faced with looming seasickness.” -Gustav Klimt

“After the writer’s death, reading his journal is like receiving a long letter.” -Jean Cocteau

                                   Ya know what I think? I think so many things but here’s what on my mind this moment. I think that funerals are for the family and not for the person who’s being buried. I think that whoever is messed up enough to keep a dying person alive on a machine for the rest of their life, is selfish. I think that a dead man’s last wishes should be honored. I can give you three reasons of proof for each one of these thoughts.

I think…

  • funerals are for the family and friends and not for the person who’s being buried.
  1.  They give the family and friends closure.
  2.  The person being buried is already gone.
  3. There’s always a party. You think dead people party much? I do but not on earth.
  •  that whoever is messed up enough to keep a dying person alive on a machine for the rest of their life is selfish.
  1.   The dying person isn’t really living if he has to stay hospitalized on a machine to live.
  2.  The dying person is probably in a lot of pain, with or without meds, even on the machine, and if the family is just keeping the person around because they can’t part with him, is selfish. Because they’re making said person live in pain just so they can stay content and not embrace the inevitable change death brings.
  3. The people see the pain that the person is in and choose to let them suffer.
  • a dead (wo)man’s last wishes should be honored.
  1. He’s gonna die. He ain’t gonna keep bugging you for stuff after (s)he’s finally gone.
  2. It’s honor. You’re honoring the person’s life by carrying out the last wants of them.
  3. If not to honor them it’s a way to carry them on in the surviving people’s lives. They, themselves cannot go on, but their wishes can.

I don’t really know why I wanted to talk about that today but that’s just what I ended up with. So onto my other letter.

5

Dear Dad,                                                                                                                                                                  2.24.’12.

          How’ve you been? Hopefully better than me. I finished that writing thing and entered it. A lot of people liked it. And my teacher even read it to Hannah’s seventh grade class. I helped a girl find God today, Daddy. It was surreal. I held Hannah too, after revival was over, I didn’t give a rat’s a** about the no touching rule. That was me. She was crying because Luke’s dad died. You know that. That happened before you were gone. But she was crying also because Luke’s uncle now has the same thing and the chemo treatment to kill it, affects his kidneys and his kidneys suck off the bat. I learned last year in science that kidneys filter your blood. Uncle G has bad kidney’s too right? And that’s why Cousin’s girlfriend gave up one of hers right? I want to do something like that for someone today. Maybe a kidney, maybe a lung, most definitely blood though. As soon as I get over my fear of needles and looking at my own blood being drawn out of me.

         I hope I made you smile. I’m sorry I haven’t written you in a couple days. I’ve been busy and I’m gonna be even busier the next few days. My birthday’s in 3-4ish days, can you believe that? I remember you asking me how old I was every time my birthday rolled around and before I could answer you’d ask 3? Or 4? No older than 5 surely. And you’d smile. Before I always thought you were being mean but now I know that you were definitely not trying to flatter me. What 7yr old wants to be younger? Little kids look forward to being older. So if it wasn’t flattery, what was it? I know now. It’s that I’d always be your little girl no matter how old I got.  For that makes me smile a small somewhat sad smile. I love you, Dad. I do. I always will. That will never change. I love your little code messages like that one that nobody ever got. That I never got. Till now.

        Soccer tryouts weren’t this week. But they’re supposed to be next Monday and Tuesday. On my birthday. I’m excited. I’m a little nervous though. You’d never guess I was either though by the blank stare on my face right now. Tomorrow we’re going to Dylan’s birthday party, I think. And then I believe on Sunday, we’re going to visit’s Kris’ memorial. I cry just thinking about it. Because the last time I was there I was with you. You and I paused the longest. Nobody understood but me and you. We were in sync in that way. The last place I was even remotely similar to that of Kris’ memorial was when you took me shooting. Remember that? I do. You were always telling me survival tips. Remember how we got stuck in the sand in your brand new truck? I do. Danny helped us out, remember? Then we drove a little further and started shooting again this time with Danny. I remember you guys talking when you thought I couldn’t hear, saying how good an aim I have and how women have a thing for the automatic. I smiled and leisurely squeezed off more rounds. Danny has offered to take us shooting. I want Sister and Mom to learn how to shoot but then I want to be selfish. I want to be selfish and just keep our shooting as a you and I thing, a special thing just between you and me. However, I do want them to be able to protect themselves.

            Another thing that was between me and you is the wood. I want to get back to splitting and if possible I want to keep the business going. However, I split the wood. Uncle A and Uncle B see no reason to keep the splitter or conveyor around and there goes even more of you that I can still use. So deciding to wait on splitting, I wandered around the shop. I do that sometimes now. I found that log. The one we made those coasters out of? I want to make those and sell or give them away. Maybe even make a trademark stamp and make it official. Do you know what type of tree that log was off of? Do you remember what saw you used to cut it with? I don’t. This is why I need you here. To teach me the things you didn’t get to teach me yet, to show me how to do the things you always just did for me. To watch wrestling with me, to watch Bonanza with me. To kick or toss a ball around with me. To listen to my newest paragraph of my story. To laugh at my little scream of terror as my chickens came towards me. To fence in the newest hole in the dog pen. To keep the peace between me and Sister and me and Mom. And more importantly, ask me what’s wrong when nobody else knew I was upset. That’s what i miss about you. How nobody else understood me but you did. And now I don’t have you. Now nobody gets it. Now I’m alone. There’s nobody sitting out there with me in the shop no more. I’m not keeping anybody company anymore. I miss you.                           -Love you forever and always, eshy

Psssst, Dad. P.S. The world is full of 747’s. I think I got a chuckle out of you. 

Well thanks for tuning in and reading today’s letter, folks. Come back again soon.     -The Determined, eshy,

Dear Whoever… #53,

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Dear Whoever Has Seen Freshly Pressed Lately,                                                                                 12-17-2011

“The past is behind, learn from it. The future is ahead, prepare for it. The present is here, live it.” -unknown

“Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.”-unknown

“One reason God created time was so that there would be a place to bury the failures of the past.”-unknown

       When I log into WordPress.com, I always check the Freshly Pressed tab thing and see if any titles catch my eye. Sometimes there is none. Sometimes there’s one. Or sometimes on occasion there will be three or four that sound interesting. Well this Freshly Pressed post caught my eye cause it was about letters. A letter to her past self. Her younger self. I thought that was interesting because it reminded me of a song that I love. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQ3bn7V0zdU&ob=av2e

If I could write a letter to me
And send it back in time to myself at 17
First I’d prove it’s me by saying look under your bed
There’s a Skoal can and a Playboy no one else would know you hid
And then I’d say I know it’s tough
When you break up after seven months
And yeah I know you really liked her and it just don’t seem fair
All I can say is pain like that is fast and it’s rare

And oh you got so much going for you going right
But I know at 17 it’s hard to see past Friday night
She wasn’t right for you
And still you feel like there’s a knife sticking out of your back
And you’re wondering if you’ll survive
You’ll make it through this and you’ll see
You’re still around to write this letter to me

At the stop sign at Tomlinson and Eighth
Always stop completely don’t just tap your breaks
And when you get a date with Bridgette make sure the tank is full
On second thought forget it that one turns out kinda cool
Each and every time you have a fight
Just assume you’re wrong and dad is right
And you should really thank Mrs. Brinkman
She spent so much extra time
It’s like she sees the diamond underneath
And she’s polishin’ you ’til you shine

And oh you got so much going for you going right
But I know at 17 it’s hard to see past Friday night
Tonight’s the bonfire rally
But you’re staying home instead because if you fail Algebra
Mom and dad will kill you dead
Trust me you’ll squeak by and get a C
And you’re still around to write this letter to me

You’ve got so much up ahead
You’ll make new friends
You should see your kids and wife
And I’d end by saying have no fear
These are nowhere near the best years of your life

I guess I’ll see you in the mirror
When you’re a grown man
P.S. go hug Aunt Rita every chance you can

And oh you got so much going for you going right
But I know at 17 it’s hard to see past Friday night
I wish you’d study Spanish
I wish you’d take a typing class
I wish you wouldn’t worry, let it be
I’d say have a little faith and you’ll see

If I could write a letter to me
To me

       As a writer who loves music and the lyrics in the music almost as much as their words…this song is amazing. Why, you may be thinking? Well that is simple. From the lyrics you can gather what type of guy the artist is and what type of life he has led. You immediately know if he’s happy with his life or not. The reader -the listener has a pretty good idea of what happened to “Aunt Rita”. The listener of the song can see his back round and imagine the setting, the seventeen-year-old studying for that algebra test thinking of the bonfire rally the whole time, or him taking out Bridgette on a date, or him getting dumped by his long-time girlfriend. So it:

  • paints an amazing picture. Gives you character, setting, pictures. A-M-A-Z-I-N-G.
  • has feeling, like a ton. It takes you through the sweet parts of life like having a wife and kids and being at that age of contentment. But it also takes you through the lows, such as getting dumped or not being able to go to a party cause you have to study to pass a test.
  • It probably does more but it’s 1am so I’m sorta tired and making lists, blogging, and watching tv is not helping me stay up.  So therefore I’m only listing two things.

       Anyways, back to my original reason for posting this, that blog post on Freshly Pressed. It’s here: http://tracilee.wordpress.com/2011/12/05/dear-me-a-letter-to-my-16-year-old-self/ Essentially the same thing. I like the song version better in my opinion but then again, he is a professional singer.  I love these letters and when I get old enough to really reflect on my life, well then, you better believe I’m going to write a few of these. Heck, if I still have a blog then, if I have this blog, which is a real possibility, well then, I’ll even post them for you. I have lived through a lot already but who am I addressing it to? Dear Infant Me? Doesn’t quite sound right does it? I love hearing and reading letters like this though. They’ve inspired many venting letters of this sort, and from those, this blog idea, and from that the Dear Whoever’s everyone seems to like, ’cause if ya didn’t, you wouldn’t be reading this I assume. Anyways, enjoy and look out for the December/January contest that I’m working on setting up.

                                                                                                                          Forever and always, eshy,

P.S. The song is called Letter To Me, by Brad Paisley, in the country genre, on the album Fifth Gear. Or is it 5th Gear? Anyways all his albums and songs are very real and very awesome. I love him. But my sister loves him more. Too bad he’s married. Not to my sister though. I think she’s now obsessed and wanting to marry Blake Griffin.

P.P.S. Sorry that the quotes don’t really relate to the post. But in a way they do.

P.P.P.S. I swear that one month I’ll write twenty posts and fill up a whole category of 20 Dear Whoevers. I got a wallet today by the way, not that it matters. *grumbles* Why am I talking to myself again? Agh! Well I ordered it online. Hopefully it will come soon. That was my Christmas present to myself. Okay well nighty-night. Technically goodmorning now but anywho—ciao.

 

Dear Whoever…, #52

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Dear Whoever Cares Enough To Listen To Me Rant/Vent,                                                                        December 12th, 2011

Well you wanted more casual posts. Every once and awhile. So here’s one. This is essentially what most bloggers do. They journel the days of their lives online for everyone to see. My life is very complicated to an outsider, as most lives are, so do your best to follow because I’m not explaining every part you don’t know the context to.

My day was…horrific. Well not really when you consider some of the other days I’ve had this month and last. My life is filled with only the downs it seems. I feel like a failure at everything even though I know I’m not. I’m a failure as a friend because I didn’t know Alexis tried to commit suicide. I feel like a failure as a daughter because I’m constantly being yelled at for not doing a good enough job, for whining, for everything even though I know I do my best at everything. I feel like a fail at school because I don’t have a 4.0 GPA and some people do, I get crap for being an honor student but not having the special little 4. I do have a 3.995 GPA thank you very much. I’m a fail at school because I got 1 problem wrong and I have a B in one of my classes even though I know I’m not at risk of failing the class. I’m a fail at being a sister because my sister won’t confide in me or rarely talk to me. I feel like a fail at singing because I always hear wonderful voices that are always on time. I try to find the positive, the good, the just, the honesty, the courage, the beauty, in everything, in the life that surrounds me. I try but I fail at that too because I give into the excuse that there is so much grey, and darkness, and bad in the world that it’s too hard to find the good. I feel like a fail as a human because I am a black sheep, so to speak, I do not think regular thoughts, I wonder about death and life, the meaning of life, and what I’m doing alive, I wonder about stupid stuff, I have to dive into the complexity of something to understand the simple parts, I am a failure in every possible way. But even as I say that I just know it’s not true. I mean I tried to journel, I lost my journel. I feel horrible even though I know I’m not a complete failure. I mean, I have all A’s in my studies and I know some people who are actually failing the same studies. I feel like a failure as a friend once again because I had to go out with, and then break up with Jacob, and ruin our friendship at the same time. What a mistake that was. I’m also a fail at being a friend because I cannot tell my “friends” any of this. I cannot tell them the hell I go through constantly. What it’s like to be yelled at every moment you’re awake. The hell of looking at the strongest man in your life and seeing him wither away, the hell of not going to sleep for fear those words were your last words to him. The hell of watching him fall. Of catching him. Of the pain as your back slams into the fence as you lose balance while catching him. The tears constantly falling and stinging at your eyes ready to fall. I feel like a failure as a daughter because I see all these moms and daughters walking through the mall together and I don’t have that, I can’t have that, and I want that. I want a relationship with my mom that she doesn’t want or have time for. If not a relationship, at least to be able to confide in my mom and tell her my thoughts about our situation. Why the hell do I have to be the strong one and watch her cry? In the movies it was the kids who broke down and ran to their mommys and started crying. Not the other way around. Why can’t I do that?  I’m a fail at being a person someone would want to be around because of the sarcastic, mean, pessimistic, negative monster this battle has turned me into when I used to be nice and have friends that I could talk to and laugh with, and be myself around instead of being this guarded dragon, ready to yell and attack at any second. What good does it have to have a councilor and get no council. To be able to tell nobody. To not being able to explain how your throat gets tight when you think of the days when you could just be a kid, surrounded and joking with your family. What is it like to have to grow up and be an adult at 13. What’s it like to listen to your mom talk about how life’s going to be awesome after your dad dies? It’s not fun. It’s not easy. It is life. And I’m sick of it. I want to scream but I can’t because I know they’d hear me as they are only in the living room. To raise your voice even a fraction of an octave in anger and no you’re going to get yelled at or backhanded. What’s it like to sit with your “friends” in silence because you didn’t get to go see that movie premire, or you didn’t get to go to that sleepover because you had to stay home and babysit a grown, dying man and feed him every two hours. Both meds and liquid food through a tube in his stomach. What’s it like to have to go to a lawyer and sit in as they discuss wills, and who gets what, at what age, and have to transalate. What’s it like to force the pain-inducing spit in your throat down. What’s it like to have to do the gardening, your schoolwork, mantain cars and animal pens, cook, clean, babysit, and take care of 2 dogs, 9 chickens, and 5 ducks(a small farm)? The word may never know. The kids my age will never understand. That’s why I don’t talk to them and I think them immature and spoiled and selfish. But I can’t blame them for being a kid. Being a teenager. It’s not their fault I was robbed. Nobody understands, but the family, the spouse, the child of someone fighting cancer…….they already know. Or else it’ll be quick learning.

Here’s some quotes I thought were cool even though they don’t nescessarily relate:

-Dreams are illustrations from the book your soul is writing about you. — Marsha Norman ((WordPress actually gave me this one.))

“As I said there is nothing wrong with failing. Pick yourself up and try it again. You never are going to know how good you really are until you go out and face failure.” -Henry Kravis  ((The last name of this guy strikes me as being familiar. Wasn’t some guy named Lenny Kravitz or something? I think it’s one of the Hunger Games cast…))

-“Don’t be afraid to fail. Don’t waste energy trying to cover up failure. Learn from your failures and go on to the next challenge. It’s OK to fail. If you’re not failing, you’re not growing.” -H. Stanley Judd ((I LOVE the way this guy thinks.<3 He put it simply and easy to understand and it’s true. Awesome. Awesome. Awesome.))

                                                                                               I’m now passing the magic talking stick, eshy,

P.S. I hate sharing personal stuff. I also hate how many times I used the word “fail” and “failure” but ya know…..I don’t care. This was a vent sooo….doesn’t matter.

P.P.S. I’m a fail at writing blog posts, this post is an excellent example of that.

P.P.S. I think I ought to ask about therapy or some crap because this counciling isn’t working and no way am I taking meds, man I would die if people knew I had to take happy pills. And no doubt my mother would open her mouth and tell all her friends.

[Mini Letter Inside of Big Letter, Shall We Call It: Dear Whoever….#52A? Feel free to read even though it’s for a specific person who will never read it.]

Dear Whoever…, 12/12/11

I’ll keep this short because I know you don’t like reading. I never understood that- how we are so very much alike, that everyone that knows me immediately knows I’m your daughter, but you hate to read and write and do so as little as you can but I love to read and write and do so as much as I can. I love you. But I hate you. Pointless, I know but the world does not often have logic, I have learned. I have learned a lot from you over these 13 years. This is not farewell, this is not the last goodbye. It’s merely a letter that is never to be sent. I know you don’t use computers so I have nothing to fear. Anyways, today when you were yelling at me after I caught you from falling, after my back got cut up from being slammed into the dog pen from impact, after the bitter, stinging tears started burning my eyes and I held out my hands waiting to catch you if you fell again, I learned something. I learned why you yell so much. It is not to be in control. It is not to appear powerful. It is because it is easier for you to yell and look mad to others(mostly me), then for others to see you cry and sad. I haven’t figured you out. You should be scared. But then you shouldn’t be. Because exposing this tidbit of you, means exposing the same tidbit about me, and I’m not ready to do that. This tidbit, about the yelling is better than letting the sadness show, well that’s just one more way I’m like you.  -your daughter, eshy, (Kayla-Ann)

Dear Whoever…, #35

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Dear Whoever Likes Books,                                                                 9/17/2011

Some quotes:

  • Anyone who says they have only one life to live must not know how to read a book.  ~Author Unknown
  • The worth of a book is to be measured by what you can carry away from it.  ~James Bryce
  • If there’s a book you really want to read but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.  ~Toni Morrison
  • A good book has no ending.  ~R.D. Cumming
  • Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend.  Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.  ~Attributed to Groucho Marx
  • You know you’ve read a good book when you turn the last page and feel a little as if you have lost a friend.  ~Paul Sweeney
  • Fiction reveals truths that reality obscures.  ~Jessamyn West
  • Books can be dangerous.  The best ones should be labeled “This could change your life.”  ~Helen Exley
  • Books are not made for furniture, but there is nothing else that so beautifully furnishes a house.  ~Henry Ward Beecher

     What I’m about to blog about, I am not the first to blog about, not even the first to blog about on WordPress, but each person’s words are their own and every person says words a different way. In the current Freshly Pressed section on your WordPress homepage is a post about the very thing I’m going to post about but I assure you, I didn’t see that till after I had already written my first draft and thrown it out. Here’s a link to that blog:
http://talesfromanopenbook.wordpress.com/2011/09/16/mysterious-paper-sculptures/ . And here’s a link to the same bog that they linked: http://txikitoplanet.posterous.com/mysterious-paper-sculptures-at-edinburgh-libr. And finally, here’s the link that I first saw: http://community.thisiscentralstation.com/_Mysterious-paper-sculptures/blog/4991767/126249.html. Also if you get the Alice Marvels newsletter well that’s where I first heard about it from which then linked me to the last link I gave you. From there made me want to post, and from wanting to post I went on WordPress to find the other two links.

     Enough though about how I found out, about the artist, he or she remains a mystery. They are leaving beautiful, hand sculpted-sculptures in libraries in Edinburgh, Scotland. These remarkable and breath-taking sculptures are made out of books, paper. They’re so detailed and precise. Beautiful beyond belief.

     He’s leaving notes along with these sculptures at libraries. Notes similar to this one: “A gift in support of libraries, books, words, ideas….. and all things *magic*” I wish he’d make a stop in America, cause I changed my mind, if I could meet anybody in the world, it’d have to be the guy or gal who made these, I mean that sincerely, there’s almost nothing that I’d like more than to shake their hand. The Mystery Artist leaves these in libraries where they sometimes go days without being discovered. Some are talking about putting them in museums or other places of the sort, some say put them in glass boxes just where the creator left them. I agree with the second opinion and so do some of the libraries who have received one of these generous gifts like this one:


This one was left right there among the shelves of books.

This one as you can see was on a windowsill in a library. This has to be my second favorite, well perhaps my third, well fourth. They’re all epic, all the way around.

Here’s yet another beautiful one. The note for this one had to do with the library’s Twitter name. Which was very clever of the artist. The library it was found in was the Scottish Poetry Library and the library’s Twitter account was: @byleaveswelive . The note read: “It started with your name @byleaveswelive and became a tree.…
… We know that a library is so much more than a building full of books… a book is so much more than pages full of words.…
This is for you in support of libraries, books, words, ideas….. a gesture (poetic maybe?)” This tree was the first sculpture found in March of 2011.

 

This sculpture is of a gramophone and a coffin that was found in the National Library of Scotland in June of 2011. It was sculpted out of a copy of Ian Rankin’s, Exit Music. The note on this one, along with all the others, were addressed to the recieveing library’s Twitter account. It read:  “For @natlibscot – A gift in support of libraries, books, words, ideas….. (& against their exit)” >>>

 THIS one is my all time favorite. The one right above is my second. It was found August 24th, 2011 along with another one at the Edinburgh International Book Festival. This one was addressed to @edbookfest (The Book Festival). It was left and found on one of the signing tables at the festival in the Bookshop. The note left with this one reads: “To @edbookfest ‘A gift’ This is for you in support of libraries, books, words, ideas…… & festivals xx” It’s a teacup mounted upon a stand, that’s standing on a book with a lovely cupcake sitting next to it. This sculpture includes a teabag with letters cut out on it, reading: “by leaves we live” . And in the teacup were the words swirled to read: “Nothing beats a nice cup of tea(or coffee) and a really good BOOK”. The book the stand is mounted to serves as the tea tray and on the tray next to the cupcake reads “except maybe a cake as well”. On the tray also are “coffee stains”  and a little saying that reads: “This cup is awarded to @edbookfest” . Here’s some closer pics of the sayings, teabag, cup, cupcake, tray, book mount, and coffee spills.

the mount and tea bag/ coffee stains, the cupcake ((LOOK AT THE DETAIL, THE FOLDS OF THE LINER))

This one was the other one found at the book festival. It was addressed to @edincityoflit (UNESCO Edinburgh City of Literature) and was found by their stand in the entrance tent. The tag on it reads: ” To @edincityoflit ‘A gift’ LOST (albeit in a good book) This is for you in support of libraries, books, words, ideas…. “No infant has the power of deciding….. by what circumstances (they) shall be surrounded.. Robert Owen” .

It was carved out of The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner by James Hogg. The following picture is of the back of the carving to the left.

  Pretty great huh? Yeah, I know. And that’s not all of them.

  Another scupture has been found in the Central Lending Library on George IV Bridge. It’s a book with a maginfying glass mounted atop it.

                                                                                                        
 

Here’s a picture of that circle you see cut out of the top of the book.

Get this(below) is the magnifying glass actually magnifying the words below it. The words in the picture above. Note that the magnifying glass is made out of paper like the whole sculpture and all the other ones. And below is the picture of the magnifying glass on display exactly where it was left and then discovered. Wickedly awesome. And a little down to the right is the note that was left along with the magnifying glass.

Below this text that I’m writing is one of the more elaborate sculptures of the set. It’s a scene in a paper cineama, one blog writes describing the scene- “punters arrayed on seats watching men and horses coming alive from the screen and charging outwards.”

 

See how their seats are books? Genius.

This is the left side of the above picture. The people made out of paper and their seats are books ; books made out of paper!  Look above(the very first picture on here) to see the left side of this sculpture. It’s pretty epic to see how the men on horses are coming out from the middle of the screen.

 See what I mean about how epic and complex and how  much time must have been put in it to make it look like that. I’m talking about the split in the screen that the men riding horses are coming through. Awesome yes? I didn’t lie and I won’t even say I told you so.

Okay, actually I will say it, I told you they were epicly awesome and don’t try to lie to  yourself and say that they’re not because you know that they are.

                                                                                                           the awed, eshy,

P.S. Guess what I wish for besides to shake the artist’s hand?……To live in Scotland, well not to live, but maybe a couple weeks visit. (; that’d be awesome, am I right?

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