A Vicious Circle

e⋅pis⋅to⋅lar⋅y 
 /ɪˈpɪstlˌɛri/
–adjective
1.
contained in or carried on by letters: an epistolary friendship.
2.
of, pertaining to, or consisting of letters.



First, a dedication.

Amanda: To Samuel Richardson's scintillating, bawdy eighteenth-century 1,499 page epistolary masterpiece Clarissa, because it proves that I am dorkier than you. And everyone deserves to marry her rake rapist.

Jamie: My dedication goes out to a friend of mine who qualified solitary drinking with, "I was riding on the C-Line, there were people around me. Therefore, I wasn't drinking alone."

Speaking of rakes, I would like to point out that the Decemberists' new single "The Rake Song" can basically describe me better than any "about me" section on a self-aggregating online profile. I have no redeeming qualities, other than the irony of my last name, "Reich." I'm the oldest of two sisters. One of us is always "the Third Reich." My parents are cruel, cruel people. So don't judge me too harshly. I also think Humbert Humbert from Lolita is a fox. Go figure.

Amanda: I am decidedly boring. However, "Life, friends," according to poet-prophet John Berryman, "is boring." He continues: "We must not say so."

After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) 'Ever to confess you're bored
means you have no

Inner Resources.' I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as achilles,

who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into mountain or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.
-- John Berryman, Dream Songs, 14

And this sums up why I'm blogging. Because I have nothing to say, am bored with what others have to say, so I'll say that, directed dearly, to my sweetest, to my beloved, to my faceless internet audience. And I'll do so by quoting a poem I love, the great literature and Art I love, that bores me.

I am ignorant to contemporary writers and novelists, for I assume they will bore me. But of the 18th century British variety, I am well versed, which probably explains my boredom. So why do I write again? Mr. Orwell can speak for me, but I won't bother quoting because it'll probably be boring.

Jamie: This is also why I think our epistolary blogging will be rather fun to read; both of us having nothing to say, but we word it oh-so decidedly. And well. Maybe? Relatively?
Did I also mention that we both attend an art appreciation school? No, not an art school. An art appreciation school.

Sometimes, it's shocking to find how many people will speak without actually saying anything. My friendship with Amanda has been the opposite of that, despite my joking. Thank G-d. We sit around and drink profusely and read passages from our favorite books--she tends to gravitate towards the poets (because she'll have no career); I delineate and follow that new-fangled prose fiction (because I too will also never have a career). We're self-indulgent and aware of our habits, which seems arrogant to those on the outside, but are probably some of the most genuine I have ever experienced. We also aren't so far-fectched as to think that we aren't petty beings. I like joking about my libido. And exaggerating my college exploits. My friend Loaf once told me that if I had a Twitter, he would follow me on it. I'm not sure if that was a compliment or something else. I'll pray for the former.

Amanda: I also often jest of my libido. But mostly to my mother. Which sounds creepy. And I might delete that. But, if we're going to be honest, which, as any "writer" can/should attest, is rare. But what I'm trying to say, if I could ever be self-aware enough to know what I'm actually trying to say, is that I jest of my libido with my mother because I'm comfortable & honest with her. I am, in a word, myself. But who can use just a word? And who will listen to me? No one? Huzzah for the Blog!

Jamie: My mother is in the Jewish Mother's Mafia. I think that says everything. As does our first entry.