Project 3 — Ewing + Yolan E+Y4L

(Letters from the screenplay, a work in progress)
Co-written by Indigo Autumn and CJ Crockett

Letter 1

Dear Yolan,

So, you were right about everything you said about time. In your absence, I’ve learned so much about it firsthand. From babies to our elders, time is that thing that we all interpret differently.

Merriam-Webster has two definitions of it:
1a: the measured or measurable period during which an action, process, or condition exists or continues : duration.
1b: a nonspatial continuum that is measured in terms of events which succeed one another from past through present to future.

I feel like the latter is what I have a problem with. That shit is heavy.

What does it mean to you? Time and the passing of it? We can’t do a re-do or get a rewind of events. Maybe we can get a remix of it through inner change cause people are dying, friend.

How does aging make you feel? Imagine driving this Bentley daily knowing I’ll crash and die one day, so I’m just making it comfortable along the way. Your boy is conflicted as hell. (I’ve never used that word in a sentence. I probably shouldn’t have lol. lol? I am actually laughing out loud at myself so ya lol.)

I want to be left alone to my own devices but I have detachment issues. I’m stuck, a part of this matrix. I know “time is of the essence” but that YOLO, ‘cause we only get one’ wave, is bullshit. Still…it feels so fleeting.

This can’t be our first life, right? Do you remember the last one though?

You’re a unicorn and all so you connect differently with the existential. I don’t remember my last life. I feel connected to tons of things in this one. I’m drawn to birds, the sun, vegetarianism, the ocean, and horticulture, but I don’t have a clear definition as to why. We come from the earth, right?

Sometimes shit makes no sense but then makes the most sense after some time. What’s that — experience?

I’m really writing this time, addressing Your Flyness, to thank you for pushing me to be more selfish and less selfless. I’ll thank you with rose gardens the next time we share the physical realm.

I landed this morning in Toronto with you in mind because you do shit I’m scared to do — like be myself. Did I say thank you? How is your spirit?

In a way, the air seems different here than in America. The people, too. In these post-COVID circles, a bunch of lightning bugs in a mason jar. No lid to screw down and seal, they’ve chosen to enter. And stay. All lighting up at different levels of brightness, at different times. Frequencies. The city is alive.

I posted up at the skatepark to shoot instead of hitting the strip, but I found myself at the bar anyway. The town itself is a gumbo of folks and absolutely nothing can fuck the vibe up. We get to talking about sports betting and strip clubs and about 20 collective shots later, we’re glazing over stocks, forex, and cryptocurrencies.

Pretty backwards now that I’m writing it out but it makes sense. Somehow I end up on the ground curbside and I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts. Music has its own language, I know you know that. I feel like it followed me. I’m in my hotel room now and I can still hear it from last night.

Best and Most Wishes,

Ewing

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