emroidered mail & epistolary impulses

yesterday was a big deadline for me. and it was oh.so.painfully close to not getting mailed that i find myself saying (once again) that the next round of manuscript send-offs will have to go out super super early. the need to post things so far in advance of the actual deadlines, due to distance & mail issues here, is really deflating me. i'm sort of f%*# mail at the moment.


however, i do have a bit of an obsession with the particular/peculiar amazingness of postcards--their confined square of public-personal space, their inexpensive-swiftness, their lack of return address. the way one's words are left out in the open for others to see along the way (how many people have read your little missive before it arrives?). who wouldn't love to receive an embroidered postcard?! i find something about the stitching on these to be both beautiful and un-nerving, almost bodily.


in honor of the public-space of the postcard, an open note to the city this morning--

dear london: i love your bustle & darks, your art & hot chocolate, your amazing underground & the unexpected quiet i feel when looking up at the ceilings of your train stations. i am also especially fond of how all of your old is slammed so hard (yet neatly) against your new & the deliciously thick not-quite-fizz of your dark beers. and then there's your free musuems! but i really wish (especially during this first year where i am mad with sending out my manuscript) that your post was a bit less messy (please read: impossible). no need to respond, c

{images via hmroberts1984}