beastly
Dear J. D. Salinger,
I never knew I could write to you, and now it turned out I could. I don't think you'd read this though. People say you live somewhere far, far away and eat nothing but apples.
I wish I could send an apple to you. We've got nice ones here, especially the large green ones. Don't know how they call them. But they're tasty.
Anyway, I had a dream in which I ran into you in the street. I tried to say something, and you ran. Which, for some reason, offended me. I cried, "There are people who plant the trees you get your apples from, do you ever think of them? Do you ever recall those who helped you be born and brought up? I do not mean your parents but your teachers, your classmates, the doctors that cured you, everyone? And now you're living there, alone, eating apples? Feeling you've got nothing left to give? Getting frustrated when anyone publishes the stories you never gave them your permission to publish? I'm just saying, there are people who love you, who have never even met you but love you anyway, why should you just run away? They only want to say I love you to you, then they'll just go home and leave you alone. It's only when you begin to run that they begin to shout. I never thought I'd shout at you, but I never thought you'd run from me either! As if I were a damn maniac!"
I know that was very, very impolite of me. And very rude, too. You can't but get irritated when you want to say I love you to someone, and they just flee. But actually, you stopped. You stopped and looked back at me.
I just wish you stopped in reality. I do understand these writings mean a lot to you, but do you think they sort of go bad the moment they are published? Or just get to the wrong people? Why won't you consider the possibility of them getting to a couple of the right ones, too? I mean, the wrong are wrong anyway, so fuck them, right? It's the right who are important, isn't it? Oh, in fact, I am just helpless. I wish I could telephone you, but I'm not even sure you've got a telephone over there. Not giving the number to anyone, anyway. I guess you're afraid they'll drive you nuts calling and asking questions. And they probably will. But there are those who just want to say I love you, too. I just hate it how I don't know if you're alright there. If the apples you ate today weren't poisoned and all.
I do hope you'll read this one day. What for, I don't know.
I never knew I could write to you, and now it turned out I could. I don't think you'd read this though. People say you live somewhere far, far away and eat nothing but apples.
I wish I could send an apple to you. We've got nice ones here, especially the large green ones. Don't know how they call them. But they're tasty.
Anyway, I had a dream in which I ran into you in the street. I tried to say something, and you ran. Which, for some reason, offended me. I cried, "There are people who plant the trees you get your apples from, do you ever think of them? Do you ever recall those who helped you be born and brought up? I do not mean your parents but your teachers, your classmates, the doctors that cured you, everyone? And now you're living there, alone, eating apples? Feeling you've got nothing left to give? Getting frustrated when anyone publishes the stories you never gave them your permission to publish? I'm just saying, there are people who love you, who have never even met you but love you anyway, why should you just run away? They only want to say I love you to you, then they'll just go home and leave you alone. It's only when you begin to run that they begin to shout. I never thought I'd shout at you, but I never thought you'd run from me either! As if I were a damn maniac!"
I know that was very, very impolite of me. And very rude, too. You can't but get irritated when you want to say I love you to someone, and they just flee. But actually, you stopped. You stopped and looked back at me.
I just wish you stopped in reality. I do understand these writings mean a lot to you, but do you think they sort of go bad the moment they are published? Or just get to the wrong people? Why won't you consider the possibility of them getting to a couple of the right ones, too? I mean, the wrong are wrong anyway, so fuck them, right? It's the right who are important, isn't it? Oh, in fact, I am just helpless. I wish I could telephone you, but I'm not even sure you've got a telephone over there. Not giving the number to anyone, anyway. I guess you're afraid they'll drive you nuts calling and asking questions. And they probably will. But there are those who just want to say I love you, too. I just hate it how I don't know if you're alright there. If the apples you ate today weren't poisoned and all.
I do hope you'll read this one day. What for, I don't know.
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21.04.2008 в 03:05it's great, I suppose
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21.04.2008 в 06:40you are oh so right)
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21.04.2008 в 12:03вообще, вот, если кому интересно:
http://members.aol.com/jdsletters/index.html
только письма там, насколько я понимаю, больше не выкладывают (я пыталась)
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21.04.2008 в 18:18-
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21.04.2008 в 20:09-
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22.04.2008 в 18:39-
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22.04.2008 в 23:44-
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23.04.2008 в 01:18-
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23.04.2008 в 12:02-
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23.04.2008 в 17:29но все равно напоминает )