I’ve been practicing writing — no, righting — letters.

Like handwritten notes. I’ve been thinking about not having a cell phone. Also it’s cool to write hand written letters. Sometimes I send them, other times I don’t. It seems like a reasonable skill to have and it feels analog. And genuine, because, well, it is when you do it by hand.

Writing by hand is different. Words come out of you not tapped in a mindless manner. A mistake feels okay. It’s adds to the realness. Writing makes you think. One of my earliest discoveries. I try not to forget I’m writing on a piece of paper by myself.

I like intentionally writing letters to people out of the blue. You have to be careful writing by hand. It becomes artistic beyond words when you realize someone other than you has to make it out. It’s more mission-like when you write a real letter. Like it’s way more work, in this day, an unnecessary amount of work, but it’s about the delivery. The personal presentation. It’s inherently heartfelt. And such a simple favor.

One time I sent a letter and I received one back. That was cool.

Bored, uneducated, homeless — em dashes are my specialty. I write what I see, think, and feel. That’s it.