A small preamble: The writer of the following letter was very kind to me with her words. I find it a bit embarrassing to post something on my own site that's so flattering, but I'm going to post it anyway because I think it's a beautiful piece of writing. Sure, might say the skeptic, he thinks it's a beautiful piece of writing--it's all about how beautiful he is. And no, say I to said skeptic, if you think all this record's about is me, you're sadly missing out.

Date: Tue, 03 Apr 2007
From: motshd5
Subject: mid-March...

hmmm...so you can email him, huh?
Why, I ask myself, would I want to do that? (because I'm aware that however, irrational, I want to do that). No one would read it. I'm sure he gets a zillion of them. More to the point, why email someone you've never met, don't know, won't know? Isn't that a little -- oh say the word! -- sad?
I turn off my laptop and go to bed.
I watch Mysterious Skin again.
The idea lingers. annoyingly. In fact, the more I push, the more it clings, an invasive presence with the audacity to solidify, occupying its own little space in my head from where it spouts whole paragraphs.
Again, why send an email that will never get read to a person you don't know?
No, I tell it for the upteenth time. It's unhealthy. Absolutely not.
But that's the thing, it says. You've got two main objections, see, one, nobody'll ever read it (There is no 'it', I interject), and two, you don't know Joe. In fact, Joe is an actor you've just seen in two movies that have somehow gotten under your skin, right?
(Exactly)
But if nobody reads it, who cares about the second objection, which - admit it - is the one that really galls you. You send an email that never gets read because - for the very reason that -  you're sending it to a ---ugghhhh --- go ahead and choke on it, girl - movie star. Movie star. Now how hard was that?
(Choking, I say, but alright, I'm smiling - how insanely goofy.)

And already, I'm painting up a little scene for myself: someday down the line,  - maybe I'm on my sister's porch, barefoot, summer, humid sticky late night , over the last dregs of a bottle of red, we're laughing at kid stories, jokes only the two of us share ...or maybe I'm at a bar, one cocktail too many, sitting around the table with a bunch of friends. "Yeah," I'll say, (punchline), "so I emailed him."
"No! But it was a creative venture." I'll tell them, over the laughter.  Oddly enough, that probably comes closest to the truth or is a part of it. or something.

The Tibetan Buddhists say that when confronted by sudden strong emotions or impulses - they call them dons - rather than locking them outside, hoping they'll eventually freeze to death (they never do), you should invite them in, give them the best seats in the house, feed them cake. The point is to make peace with them, or at the very least, to get to know them well. They can wake you up. They are your teachers.
Cake, it is then, I suppose. Whatdya think, Joe, cake?

OK, then. I'll pick a beginning. A couple of weeks ago. It was Friday night, start of spring "break" -  I spent it, for the most part, trying to get shit done for school. I shouldn't say shit, that's not right... experiment, my thesis, applic's for rsch. asst'ships, my thesis, my thesis. .... So, ok, not shit, but not much of a break either.  So I'm busy scoring this expmt'l task that I'm using, want to preview my results. Some movie I stuck in starts, Brick. Me, half paying attention, wondering where I put that glass of wine (I mean, hell - it IS Friday night...the least I deserve...)

Fast-foward an hour and a half: the ending credits role as I gaze, still transfixed, at the screen - my god! How rare is that - just as I've, once again, resigned myself to the land of so-so movies......I watch it again, this time, going back, rewinding and pausing (ahh - ok, the cigarette!). Done.
it's better, even, than I'd thought. But WHO is the lead? Why don't I recognize the actor? He's crazy talented. How can I have no idea, not a clue even, as to who the guy is? Name? No bells.
I Google it. Can't be. Is. No, can't be. Is. (getting tired of hearing that one yet?).
 
Got off campus around 8 a few nights ago to find Mysterious Skin arrived in the mail. wow. wow.
What else can I say? You put yourself out there. It was pretty amazing. No. off with the 'pretty'.just amazing. so glad it ends on a note of possibility. that there's spaciousness there, space to keep living. (I'd begun to worry how much of Neil had already died) I have to wait a night to see it again, though. it hurts to watch.

Anyway, in the interim, sort of by accident, I found hitrecord.org  (I hate to tell you , but it didn't pop up anywhere near the first page when I googled your name again. Price of success, I suppose...). One of the links I clicked on turned out not to be an interview or movie review at all, but this blog for (and I quote)  'jgl fans'. This, I have to admit, I found fascinating - granted, in a sort of creepy way - all these people - not a surprise to you, I realize- but all these people, they're busy finding, cropping, highlighting, and posting pics and clips of you, posting or simply passing on the latest 'jgl news', wallering together in a bath of gloried adoration for one Joseph Gordon-Levitt (Says she with disdain in her own email to said Joseph Gordon-Levitt).

...but as I was saying, scrolling down the page, I see something along the lines of, "as you all know Joey has a website, www.hitrecord.org, and he's just put a bunch of new stuff on it and..." Long story short, go to the site, click on journal, end up reading it in reverse order. Then I notice 'joe[]@[]hitrecord.org' towards the bottom of the page...why, that's an email address. 'Don't even think about it' I say, closing the browser, shutting my laptop, stripping for bed. Which brings me full circle.

 I wrote all of this a few weeks ago, mid-March, where it sat in my Drafts folder until now. But today I discovered I had much more to tell you (or drone on about, depending on perspective)...didn't seem appropriate to stick it all in one entry...errr - email, though. I'll send this one ahead and start anew - or continue, as the case may be. Final note: in answer to my own question, "Why email Joe when no one's gonna read it?" the answer quite simply seems  to be that I have much more to say than when (as lately) pulling out my journal (correct - the old-fashioned kind composed of paper and everything) and attempting to create some sort of meaningful record of where I'm at, what the world looks like from here, this place, this day, this moment..... Know what I've decided to do? Print this out and paste it in my journal as an entry. Yup. The meaning of having to set up some sort of convoluted mirror to stare back at oneself - which is the interpretation I can't escape - remains ambiguous. However, there are times - and it's important to recognize them as such - when it's best to let the energy lead you where it may, critical analysis be damned.

heather

Thank you, Heather.
I hope you do write again. Or, I just hope you keep writing. And if your next email...errr - entry ends up old-fashioned, composed with a pen and some paper and everything, perhaps you could transcribe it into your computer and send it this way.
What's your thesis on? And where do I read more about the dons and their cake?
Thanks again,
J