I'm watching you shiver in the bus shelter.  I'm watching you try to light your cigarette. Shaking your lighter in vain. I can see  your glasses glint as you look down the street for the streetcar that never comes.

I know what's next, I should go outside and have a smoke so you have someone to ask. But I wait for you to come inside — maybe you will stay and have a drink in this empty bar.

But all you ask for is matches.

I offer you a candle, and five minutes afer you've gotten on the streetcar I can still smell your cigarette.

I once believed that kindness was lost in the world of relationships.  Ego was the motivator, lust the drive. Then I met you.  After years of taking care of other peoples loved ones; I am taken care of.  My heart cherished.  It is because of this kindness that I am able to let go of my ego.  My frailties are exposed.  I married you because of it.  You stand beside me.  You dance beside me.  We teach each other about love and try to capture it through a viewfinder and some glass. I am yours, in kindness.

When I was five years old I planted 6 grapefruit seeds in an egg carton.  One of the seeds grew and now I have a grapefruit tree in my bedroom.

It's a terrible thing for a girlfriend to say, but I was excited when you moved to Toronto.  We had spent all of our early twenties together, and I wanted desperately to date other people.  I promised you over and over that it would be easy to have an open relationship, that all I wanted was the freedom to make out with people at parties.  But it was a promise I soon forgot.

I fell madly in love with my roommate.  It wasn't a lasting, commited, almost-perfect love (like ours admittedly had been), but an unstoppable tide rushed in by the excitement of how different he was from you.  We made love; he fucked me.  We had serious discussions; he was hilarious.  You sat and listened quietly to my boisterous mouth; he wouldn't shut up for a minute.

I lied to you about how serious it was, how often I slept in his bed, how much he meant to me.  I fucked you over.

And I didn't care, because it was so new, so strange, so exciting.

There was a time when I couldn't have told you a white lie because even that small a betrayal would break my heart; I kind of knew from the moment I lied about something so much bigger that we were over.

And yet I pushed it on for one selfish year.  I felt incredibly guilty that I wasn't still in love with you, and so lied and lied to myself that I was.  Even when it ended with the roommate and I fell for someone else (and it was real this time around), I wouldn't let you go.  Once, when we were perfectly happy together, you asked me if I ever felt like breaking up with you, to just do it, rather than drag it on.  That is where most of the guilt came from, and why I waited so long.  There came a point where I thought, I should have already broken up with you by now if I was going to do it, and so I didn't, over and over again.  I kept us going under a cloud of false emotion, lying to you and myself about how I really felt.

This is not to say that there was not always a part of me that was well and truly still in love with you.  That there isn't still.

We moved across the country together, spent how many thousands of dollars on plane tickets and shipping our shit.  But even back home, back in the room where I lost my virginity to you five years ago, I couldn't make it work.  I couldn't summon back old feelings.  The lie came tumbling down.  It was you who called it,

"This isn't working."

And me who agreed,

"I know, I was just thinking that."

I guess that what I have wanted to say, what I guess I did say but will never be able to repeat often enough to make up for the last year, is that I'm sorry,

I'm sorry,

I'm sorry.

I hope that you hear some small whisper of these words, wherever you are.

share-your-secret artworks are totally retarded

Preparatory human beings.

I welcome all signs that a more virile, warlike age is about to begin, which will restore honor to courage above all!

For this age shall prepare the way for one yet higher, and it shall gather the strength that this higher age will require some day—the age that will carry heroism into the search for knowledge and that will wage wars for the sake of ideas and their consequences.

To this end we now need many preparatory courageous human beings who cannot very well leap out of nothing—any more than out of the sand and slime of present-day civilization and metropolitanism: human beings who know how to be silent, lonely, resolute, and content and constant in invisible activities; human beings who are bent on seeking in all things for what in them must be overcome; human beings distinguished as much by cheerfulness, patience, unpretentiousness, and contempt for all great vanities as by magnanimity in victory and forbearance regarding the small vanities of the vanquished; human beings whose judgment concerning all victors and the share of chance in every victory and fame is sharp and free; human beings with their own festivals, their own working days, and their own periods of mourning, accustomed to command with assurance but instantly ready to obey when that is called for, equally proud, equally serving their own cause in both cases; more endangered human beings, more fruitful human beings, happier beings!

For believe me!—the secret for harvesting from existence the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment is: to live dangerously! Build your cities on the slopes of Vesuvius! Send your ships into uncharted seas! Live at war with your peers and yourselves! Be robbers and conquerors as long as you cannot be rulers and possessors, you seekers of knowledge!

Soon the age will be past when you could be content to live hidden in forests like shy deer! At long last the search for knowledge will reach out for its due:—it will want to rule and possess, and you with it!

-  Nietzsche, The Gay Science, section 283, book four

* While the second stage of the project has begun, submissions are still welcome. 

You may send them to glassturner@gmail.com.  Include the intended letter bottle in the subject line.  Names and locations are optional, but encouraged.

...more to come

I'm watching you shiver in the bus shelter.  I'm watching you try to light your cigarette. Shaking your lighter in vain. I can see  your glasses glint as you look down the street for the streetcar that never comes. I know what's next, I should go outside and have a smoke so you have someone to ask. But I wait for you to come inside — maybe you will stay and have a drink in this empty bar. But all you ask for is matches. I offer you a candle, and five minutes afer you've gotten on the streetcar I can still smell your cigarette. I once believed that kindness was lost in the world of relationships.  Ego was the motivator, lust the drive. Then I met you.  After years of taking care of other peoples loved ones; I am taken care of.  My heart cherished.  It is because of this kindness that I am able to let go of my ego.  My frailties are exposed.  I married you because of it.  You stand beside me.  You dance beside me.  We teach each other about love and try to capture it through a viewfinder and some glass. I am yours, in kindness. When I was five years old I planted 6 grapefruit seeds in an egg carton.  One of the seeds grew and now I have a grapefruit tree in my bedroom. It's a terrible thing for a girlfriend to say, but I was excited when you moved to Toronto.  We had spent all of our early twenties together, and I wanted desperately to date other people.  I promised you over and over that it would be easy to have an open relationship, that all I wanted was the freedom to make out with people at parties.  But it was a promise I soon forgot. I fell madly in love with my roommate.  It wasn't a lasting, commited, almost-perfect love (like ours admittedly had been), but an unstoppable tide rushed in by the excitement of how different he was from you.  We made love; he fucked me.  We had serious discussions; he was hilarious.  You sat and listened quietly to my boisterous mouth; he wouldn't shut up for a minute. I lied to you about how serious it was, how often I slept in his bed, how much he meant to me.  I fucked you over. And I didn't care, because it was so new, so strange, so exciting. There was a time when I couldn't have told you a white lie because even that small a betrayal would break my heart; I kind of knew from the moment I lied about something so much bigger that we were over. And yet I pushed it on for one selfish year.  I felt incredibly guilty that I wasn't still in love with you, and so lied and lied to myself that I was.  Even when it ended with the roommate and I fell for someone else (and it was real this time around), I wouldn't let you go.  Once, when we were perfectly happy together, you asked me if I ever felt like breaking up with you, to just do it, rather than drag it on.  That is where most of the guilt came from, and why I waited so long.  There came a point where I thought, I should have already broken up with you by now if I was going to do it, and so I didn't, over and over again.  I kept us going under a cloud of false emotion, lying to you and myself about how I really felt. This is not to say that there was not always a part of me that was well and truly still in love with you.  That there isn't still. We moved across the country together, spent how many thousands of dollars on plane tickets and shipping our shit.  But even back home, back in the room where I lost my virginity to you five years ago, I couldn't make it work.  I couldn't summon back old feelings.  The lie came tumbling down.  It was you who called it, "This isn't working." And me who agreed, "I know, I was just thinking that." I guess that what I have wanted to say, what I guess I did say but will never be able to repeat often enough to make up for the last year, is that I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I hope that you hear some small whisper of these words, wherever you are. share-your-secret artworks are totally retarded. Preparatory human beings. I welcome all signs that a more virile, warlike age is about to begin, which will restore honor to courage above all!For this age shall prepare the way for one yet higher, and it shall gather the strength that this higher age will require some day—the age that will carry heroism into the search for knowledge and that will wage wars for the sake of ideas and their consequences. To this end we now need many preparatory courageous human beings who cannot very well leap out of nothing—any more than out of the sand and slime of present-day civilization and metropolitanism: human beings who know how to be silent, lonely, resolute, and content and constant in invisible activities; human beings who are bent on seeking in all things for what in them must be overcome; human beings distinguished as much by cheerfulness, patience, unpretentiousness, and contempt for all great vanities as by magnanimity in victory and forbearance regarding the small vanities of the vanquished; human beings whose judgment concerning all victors and the share of chance in every victory and fame is sharp and free; human beings with their own festivals, their own working days, and their own periods of mourning, accustomed to command with assurance but instantly ready to obey when that is called for, equally proud, equally serving their own cause in both cases; more endangered human beings, more fruitful human beings, happier beings! For believe me!—the secret for harvesting from existence the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment is: to live dangerously! Build your cities on the slopes of Vesuvius! Send your ships into uncharted seas! Live at war with your peers and yourselves! Be robbers and conquerors as long as you cannot be rulers and possessors, you seekers of knowledge! Soon the age will be past when you could be content to live hidden in forests like shy deer! At long last the search for knowledge will reach out for its due:—it will want to rule and possess, and you with it! - Nietzsche, The Gay Science, section 283, book four