Category: Letters

A Plea For Help

Dear Brain,

Why?  Why are you doing this to us?  What are you even doing to us?  We haven’t felt this way in years.  Decades.

Don’t you remember the days when sitting is all that you had us do?  Whether at a desk or in the cockpit?  Weren’t those pleasant?  Sure, you didn’t seem to be that stimulated, but at least we had it easy.  Not everyone gets their way all the time you know.

Look at us now.  Feel us now.  Can’t you tell that we’re exhausted?  So much running.  And for what?  Oh, and I spoke to Fingers the other day, they told me not to say anything, but they’re starting to feel it too.  What about your piano?  Are you really going to let Fingers become too tired to tickle the ol’ ivories?

We just don’t understand it.  What are you running from?  Responsibility?  Failure?  It doesn’t make sense.  We used to live in harmony, and now look at us.  Muscle mass is shrinking, and we’re sore all the time.

We aren’t saying we can’t keep up, we just believe you are underachieving at the moment.  Remember what Bruce said in TDK?  “I believe in Harvey Dent.”  Well, we believe in you!  We’re with you.  No matter how far this road goes, we won’t let you fall.  Just please consider us in the softer moments.  Please.  Okay, that’s all.  Try to get us some rest.

With Support,

Legs

A Letter to the Victims of the Aurora Theater Shooting

To the Victims of the Aurora Theater Shooting:

“If I had my way they’d take metal altogether out of this world. Every blade, every gun,” says Natalie Portman’s character in the classic film “Cold Mountain.”  Maybe I’m just a sucker for movies, but when I watch that one–and that scene in particular–an “Amen!” or “Preach it!” escapes my lips before I know it.  I can only imagine that you feel the same way.

I’m writing this letter to you today because I want you to know that I do not believe a letter like this is what is needed at the moment.  But, at the moment, I have to write a letter for a class and I wanted to write to you.  I’ve been taking undergraduate courses in writing recently, and a large part of writing is rhetoric.  Rhetoric is the term used to describe the tools writers use to affect their audience.  I’m told a writer uses rhetoric—these tools–to persuade people to agree with him.  Sometimes the use of rhetoric isn’t deliberate, sometimes it is very deliberate.  Like I said, though, I don’t believe words, especially not the words on this page, can help me persuade you to believe anything at the moment.  “So why the letter?” you may ask.

As you know, Colorado, in large part because of the tragic events of July 20, 2012, is currently in the spotlight of a larger movement across the nation.  I’m talking, of course, about the state legislature’s recent revisit to its gun policy.  There’s no denying that without guns July 20th—more importantly, your lives–would never have been tainted by this unbearable act.  Just the same, I can’t help but wonder if changes are being made too quickly.

Here’s what I’m proposing:  For the last year I’ve been hosting a dinner series of sorts at my home.  I’d like to invite you over to the one scheduled for July 20, 2014.  If you can believe it, July 20th is my birthday.  As July 20, 2012 approached I’d been excitedly anticipating the movie for a year, knowing it was coming out on my birthday.  My brother can confirm that I bawled on the phone that morning as I heard the news.  I had called him to discuss whether we should still see the movie that night.  He was on I-70, driving to Denver from Kansas City so we could see the movie together as a birthday present.  This July 20–July 20, 2014–I’m inviting you to a dinner at my home.  The dinner will be a place where we will share ourselves.  You don’t know me yet, but rest assured that disrespect has no place at my home.  I want to know what you think, and I would like to share some thoughts with you as well.

So, what do you say?  I have a little saying that I stole from the Oracle of another blockbuster trilogy: “The only way to get there is together.”  I believe my time in the Air Force allows me to own this phrase as it’s essentially the positive way of saying, “You don’t crash in compartments.”  I feel like you and I are separated by more than space, and I don’t think that’s necessary or valuable.  Please contact me if you agree and would like to join me for an event that your presence will enhance substantively.

Yours sincerely,

//signed//

Pete

Self-Reflective Letter for English 201 (Really, This Is College Today.)

Dear Professor E–:

I’ve been thinking about our relationship a lot lately.  Do you remember how we first met?  You, the professor–the gatekeeper; me, the seeker?  I remember it like it was yesterday.  You lectured me on the importance of listening.  Always the professional, you wouldn’t fudge my grade just because I made really good arguments why I didn’t turn in my work on time.  Didn’t you understand that I was just coming out of another relationship and didn’t have time for you yet?

Without you, I would’ve never experienced growth.  Of course, I’m referring to how you led me from veritable darkness to light in the areas of critical reading, argument analysis, and revision.

Like a dream, you asked me to explore anything I wanted.  You challenged me to research a body of work in a way I never before had.  You even allowed me to use webpages.  More than that, you loosed the first-person-perspective that I had bottled up inside for all these years.  Specifically, I told you I wanted to go to Mars.  Like a good friend, you encouraged this dream, while subtly encouraging me to do a little research before packing.  Now, neither of us were greenhorns when we met, but it is because of your relentless attention that I discovered how to improve my ability to read for understanding and then communicate my findings via the written word.  The only pity is that, according to my research, there is a great chance that after I’m selected to move to Mars, our relationship will be forced to end.  I hope you’ll write.

Next, I wanted to thank you for the invaluable lessons in argument analysis.  Before we met, I always thought I won my arguments using “the right way.”  Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to learn that I could be right using several different methods of argumentation.  Formal logic is difficult to defeat, but with your help I learned that it isn’t the only kind.  You taught me The Toulmin Model, which comes in most handy when reading an argument that is so shameful that the writer hides what they really have to say.  Just the same, I want to be good at everything, so learning how to be forgiving during a debate proved invaluable.  And then, do you remember how you kept me up late reading about Rogerian analysis?  You know, when you apply the time-tested art of flattery to win over dissenters?  The whole, “Let me outline your argument for you, praise it, but then subtly recommend that my way is still better.”  It’s really touching how it works.  If you ever get sick of me, I just may use it to win you back—watch out!

Finally, and really through everything—thick and thin—you taught me how to keep an every-watchful eye on my own writing.  Revise, revise, revise.  Over the last several months, you asked me to do a lot of things.  Sometimes I was uncomfortable, yet you always required that I take it a step at a time.  It was here where I learned that the process is as important as the product.

So here we sit—you and me—in this crazy, crazy world.  Who can know what the future holds?  All I can hope is that you’ll stay in mine.  It’s been wonderful thus far Professor E–.  You’re the best.

Yours sincerely,

//signed//

Pete, Favorite Student

A Letter to Friends Who Challenge Me – That I’ll Never Write

Dear Friends Who Challenge Me,

I’m writing to you on this fine September day because we need to talk.  Please understand writing this letter was not easy for me.  I can already hear some of your responses and I have only completed three sentences.  I simply wanted to say, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

You see, you have all–unintentionally I hope–ruined my life.  Up until I met you, I was happy-go-lucky and really thought I knew which way was up.  I went about my days with little or no concern for…anything, really.  The people I surrounded myself with would empathize with my every feeling.  If I was sad, they would shower me with sympathy cards.  If I was happy, they would throw me a party.  If I was mad, they would come rushing to my defense.  It was really quite wonderful.

Then you guys entered my life.  I can’t even remember which of you I met first, or how we met.  What I do remember is how I felt as you didn’t empathize.  At first, I can’t deny that you had appeal simply because you were different–as if a lightening bolt.  But over time, I learned to love you guys.  You provided a balancing perspective that I nearly forgot existed.  I treasured the perspective.  I finally felt grown up.

Living with you in my life taught me to really evaluate the situation.  Should I be sad?  Should I be happy?  Was anger really the appropriate response?  And no matter where we disagreed, you always let me make up my own mind and go my own way.  Your authenticity tore-down the shelter that my fear and laziness constructed.

Just the same, I think the time has come for us to part ways.  I know.  I know this is difficult and confusing for you to hear.  Believe me when I tell you I haven’t come to this decision lightly.  My problem is I just can’t relate to ‘normal’ people anymore.  When they live and talk, I want to be authentic with them, as you have been authentic with me.  It doesn’t work.  These new friends go silent.  They have no response.  Some of them become visibly agitated.  I have been called “mean.”  Their shelter is too strong.  More than that, they don’t even want to believe they have one.

You and I know that they’ll be happier without it, but I am still mad at you.  I feel so lost in these new situations that I really do think the best thing is for me to rebuild my own shelter.  I think it will be nice to take a break for a while.  I hope you can understand this decision, though I know you never will.  Maybe we’ll meet again someday.

Once Your Friend,

A Mugwump

A Letter to Racism

Dear Racism,

I’m writing this letter to you to give you notice that I’m coming after you.  You’re toxic.  Every time I think you’re finally gone, you pop right back up again.  Over the years, I’ve learned to cope with your appearances in private capacities, but apparently some inner reservoir of  boldness has caused you to gain an increasing amount of state sponsorship.

Do you even know what I’m referring to?  No?  Two weeks ago, we were required to read Paul Kivel’s The Culture of Power at work.  How in the hell did you convince a public school district in 2013 that you deserve an audience?

Hiding between the lines of that article, you entered the room to remind us of some challenges that lay ahead.  As it turned out, no amount of wishful thinking on my part would hide the fact that you were just getting started.  Once you focused our attention on our differences, you became the predominant theme of the day.

Let me me clear: I have always despised you.  In the past, however, I thought if I ignored you that you would go away.  That day, you showed me the error of my ways.  I now know that my choice to not give you the attention you so desperately desired caused you to misunderstand me.  You misunderstood my thoughts about being in the “culture of power.”  Allow me to state them plainly:  I know that I should be in the “culture of power.”  Two of your further attempts to infect me that day illustrate your weakness and will help demonstrate how I know that I’m better than you.

First, you said, “You’re going to be dealing with kids whose parents taught them to never trust white people.”  My father never–not ever–taught me such a thing.  On the “Things to Teach Children” continuum “Never Trust (fill in the culture) People” is close-minded and weak.   Ever read Thucydides?  Heard of the US Civil War?  Cultures who think like you die out.

Second, you said,  “To motivate them, I say to my students, ‘Are you telling me you always want a white president?'”  Never have I, nor anyone else I know in the “culture of power,” ever considered skin tone when voting.  A worthy candidate is difficult enough to find as it is.  What possible good could come from adding clearly irrelevant, meaningless criteria?

I guess the mistake is probably mine.  For some reason I projected that because I wanted you to die, you also wanted you to die.  Now that I’ve had the time to think about it for a second, I realize that that would be suicide.  And not many things willingly commit suicide.  But die you must.  So no more will I idly ignore you.  Beginning now, I’m going on the offensive.  I’m coming to kill you.  My weapon is constant, consistent correction.

If you want to survive, grow eyes in the back of your head.  Avoid public places.  If you care for your friends, avoid them.  Don’t stay in any one place too long.  Get comfortable wearing a different size shoe.  I really hope you think I’m joking.  I’m begging you to test my resolve.  Do it.

Your sworn enemy,

Love

Definitive Response to Mr. Mike Keefe

Dear Mr. Keefe,

I am writing to you in response to one of your recent works, “The Civilian Need for Military-Style Assault Weapons.”

Here’s the thing, civilians who argue for the right to own “military-style assault weapons” are not arguing that they need to own them for hunting purposes.  The reason civilians need to be able to own assault weapons is to maintain the ability to prevent and/or defeat tyranny.

It was during my second deployment that the idea struck me.  It doesn’t matter how many planes/boats/tanks the US has.  The reason we are running the show in Iraq and Afghanistan is because we have more guns and bullets than the enemy.  Before 2003, I might have had to argue my point simply on principle (still a winning argument), but after a decade of fighting men armed only with assault rifles, I can convince you with practical experience as well.  How else do you explain these last ten years during which the most powerful military in the world hasn’t been able to definitively defeat men armed only with assault weapons?

Let me state the main assumption in this argument; that is, the point on which we may disagree:  every government trends towards tyranny.  Our founders recognized this and put a check in place in the hope that it would be enough to prevent the tyranny from occurring.  That being, governments should fear (just a little) their people.  The real genius, of course, is that an armed population can actually overthrow a tyrannical government, not just threaten to overthrow it.

To sum up, your cartoon totally sets up a straw man in the debate on gun policy in America.  By defeating this straw man as soundly as you do, you miss your mark.  Rather than offer insight on the gun-control debate in America, you do two negative things.  First, you confuse a reason for assault weapon ownership that isn’t worthy of attention for one that is.  Second, deliberately setting up a straw man on an issue that restricts my everyday freedom to spend my money as I please actively promotes tyranny.  No thank you, Mr. Keefe.

Sincerely,

A Mugwump

A Letter to the Editor

The NSA conducts surveillance.  The New York Times commits treason.  Which is worse?

In publishing what can only be described as a paid advertisement–Leonard H. Schrank and Juan C. Zarate’s, “Data Mining, Without Big Brother,”–the Times dragged itself through the gutter just to sell papers.

In their July 2, 2013 editorial, Schrank and Zarate abused the responsibility the national spotlight demands.  Their piece informed us that they worked on a program—Swift—that has no practical correlation to the NSA’s surveillance program beyond the quite obvious fact that they both work with big data.  To a hammer, everything looks like a nail.  The Times should be ashamed for printing this.

Schrank and Zarate conclude, “Ultimately, the Obama administration needs to demonstrate that the programs are not only valuable and legal, but also that the government’s use of that data can be constrained and verified.”  In other words, they conclude that the Obama administration must prove a negative.  With all their schooling, professional accomplishment, and first-hand experience deterring terrorism, their big conclusion is a logical fallacy?  Not even President Obama’s rhetorical abilities can overcome their logical error and prove someone is not doing something.

Let’s switch gears for a moment.  What is the problem in this whole Snowden story?  The problem is that an NSA employee couldn’t keep a secret.  Are we or are we not a country who understands the value of secrecy when it comes to security?  If Americans want to keep “winning”, we need to be sure our enemies do not know our capabilities.  Thanks to Edward Snowden, they just became more aware.  We should be asking, “What was he thinking?”

The elementary lesson Snowden somehow missed, the truth that the New York Times allowed itself to be distracted from, is that for secrets to work they must be kept secret.  A secret’s power is derived from the requirement that it remains secret.

The Times, in running this editorial, demonstrated either that it never took an undergraduate course in logic, or that like Snowden, it too has committed an act of treason.

When Jeffrey Wigand revealed that Brown and Williamson knowingly included carcinogenic additives to boost the nicotine in cigarettes, it was a clear case of acting in good faith to better inform the public about a commercial product.  On the other hand, revealing one method an agency charged with national security uses to accomplish its mission is a clear case of treachery.  Since not everyone is able to immediately discern the distinction, an established publication such as The New York Times decidedly has the responsibility to publish writers who can.

Rather than publish a distracting paid advertisement for Swift, the Times should publish a case study on Edward Snowden.  Publish the study because in every failure there is a lesson.  We need to learn the events of his life which led him to the conclusion that revealing national security secrets is somehow in the best interest of national security.  Our freedom depends on it.

A Letter To My Friend (That I Hope To Write)

To My Friend,

We’ve known each other for some time now.  We’ve seen how we each live, how we each make decisions, how we each handle problems.  More than most, you’ve seen my relationships with women unfold.

I’m writing to you now because a new day has dawned.  People like us, we’re different.  Our brains maintain a tighter grip on information than most.  We have been given all the tools necessary to accomplish great things in this life, you and I.  That’s just a fact.  We also know that leading a family must be one of those things.  It is a timeless tradition that must be honored by all men aspiring to greatness.  There is no escaping this feeling.  We’re surrounded by weak men holding their hands out, expecting help.  They’ve got it wrong.  We’re the ones who give help, not receive help.

The point is, we made it this far, and owe it to everyone, literally everyone, to use the rest of our time to be an example.

Some maladjusted part within us wants us to believe that if a woman would have us, then she could be the one.  First hand experience however, tells us that nothing could be further from the truth.  First hand experience also tells us that that’s not enough.  That’s why I’m writing this letter.  We need to help each other stay focused on the goal.  Alone, the future is bleak.  Together, we can lead a revival.

Only because of you am I confident to share the news.  You reminded me of something I once knew; something that over the last several years I repressed, hid, denied, and pretended to forget.  You reminded me that I, too, believe ideal women exist.  I, too,  believe in women of such high quality that they seem unearthly.  I’m talking about a quality so rare that it is only whispered about.  I believe in ideal women who possess so much more than the ability to attract.  My friend, we’ve always hoped we were right.  Now I am certain we were, because I found mine.  I hope this letter brings you good fortune, and motivates you to stay the course.

Your Friend,

A Mugwump

If Movies Could Speak – A Letter

Dear Spoiler Alert,

As you know, it has been a while since I’ve written you.  No, this isn’t a dream.  Please try to pay attention.  I’ve been thinking a lot about our relationship.  No, I’m not actually your child.  I know it is difficult for you but can you be patient and hear me out?  There’s something I need to tell you.  No, I’m not pregnant with a demon.  It’s about us.  Well, actually it’s about you.  No, you’re not dead.  Come to think of it, I don’t know where to begin.  No, the end is not the best place.  Do you remember growing up?  No, I’m not here to tell you your parents were actors.  Do you remember your first Christmas?  No, there’s no change, Santa Claus is still a fantasy.

Writing this letter is proving more difficult than I imagined.  No, I’m not writing from prison.  I think there is something wrong with you.  No, you’re not an android.  You see, when we were young…  No, you were not abducted by aliens.  When we were young, there was a time when you used to let me experience life for myself.  No, I’m not breaking up with you.  Please just continue reading.  Life used to be so full of wonder.  No, we are not about to be overrun by zombies.  I used to laugh, get scared, and generally love my life.  No, you can’t have my bike; this isn’t a suicide letter.

One day something changed.  No, we still haven’t found life on other planets.  I don’t remember the specifics.  No, I did not just awake from a frozen sleep.  I can remember a time though, when a pretty girl gave you extra attention because you knew something before everyone else.  No, I’m not that girl’s daughter.  Please keep reading.  I have a little more I want to say.  We’ve all done it.  We’ve all ruined the end of a movie for someone else, at least accidentally.  No, they didn’t send me to bring you in for a lobotomy.  But with you it was different.  You never apologized.  You never changed.  From that first time until now, you have been making life miserable for me.  No, you didn’t infect me with the rage virus.  Please just try to continue reading.  Because of you I am unable to add enjoyment to life.  Because of you I am unable to capitalize on life’s unpredictability.  I don’t want to know what happens at the end.  Can you understand that?  Life isn’t about being the first to know what happens next.  It is about spending time with people.  Experiencing things together.  No, I haven’t met someone else.

You need to know that there is no end.  Do you understand?  No, that’s not because our energy continually passes on to other beings.  I mean to say that I think you should try living in the moment.  There is no big reward for sharing what happens at the end.  When I know the ending ahead of time, it doesn’t add value.  Really, it only highlights your personality’s flawed nature.  No, you don’t suffer from multiple-personality disorder.  Ugh, I give up.  No, this isn’t where I reveal that I’ve always been the bad guy.  Is there nothing I can say to get to you change?  Is there anyone you’ll listen to?  No, this isn’t an intervention.

I hope you understand I had to try.  I guess you always knew how this would end.

Your Good Friend,

Motion Pictures

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