Unread letters, like forgotten dreams…

Unread letters, like forgotten dreams acquire as much literary value in their obscurity as they do an equivalent degree of emotional gravitas. There was a time when people wrote thoughtful, reflective and intelligent letters to each other and in all the playfully-constructive ambiguities of language and meaning there sought to explore, discover and redefine themselves and each other as living subjectivities of light, colour and shadow in and as words and ideas.

People no longer have time for letters, reflective composition or the sincere interpersonal engagement that clever, sensitive words often bring and so it is not merely those few shy or insightful and treasured unsent letters of love or philosophy and friendship that inadvertently and inversely gather significance and powerful meaning around themselves as cloaks of unknowing darkness. It is now the art of letter writing and a passion for significance and meaning in ideas and life that itself fades into the twilight occlusion of a language now so irretrievably colonised by corporations and all (their) hollow technologies to the point of an utter and abject absurdity as meaningless oblivion.

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