Our filters get the best of us sometimes. We have become masters of blocking. Suppressing. Forgetting. Desensitizing. We are reluctant to dip into the past. Too preoccupied to process the present.

And we hate to talk about it. Sometimes we’ve lost the ability to even think about it.

This daily ritual of letter writing has reminded us how important it is to reconnect—with ourselves and those around us.

Our 7 days may be up but basketcasing lives on.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 Sky & Nightingale

Walk from Thayer to Pawtucket. We deliver to your doorstep. Final destination treat: delicious vegetarian food.

I set out bright and early for the mailroom and somehow manage to charm my way into its very depths. Its quite an operation they run back there. Hundreds upon thousands of slotted rows- each cubby labeled with its very own color coded name tag. An OCD’s delight. Mail galore sorted, filed and stowed away in its rightful place. My letters however, abide by their own internal system.
Sender: Anonymous
Recipient: Random

-Sky

The rain stopped and I went to the bookstore. I slipped an envelope into a man’s book and found this in our own mailbox—an email to an old friend that was copied to us basketcases:

Dear B.J.,

I am sitting at a cafe in the Brown Bookstore having an expresso macchiato.

I remember the ‘traveling in America’ project you did when you were a student here. Well, rest assured that what I guess one might call interactive art remains alive and well. A few minutes before I sat down a young woman carrying a pink basket dropped a sealed envelope in front of me and hurried off. On the envelope is stamped
http://basketcases.tumblr.com/
Inside the envelope was a small piece of bright green paper on which is handwritten:
       I moved houses
       when I was 10.
       I miss
       327 11th St.
I assume the young woman was Nightingale. I do not think I looked sad in the rain; in fact I was paging through a large-format comic book by Art Spiegleman, and in any case it stopped raining earlier.

I am not supposed to still be here: my flight out of Washington tonight to Geneva got cancelled due to the volcanic ash from Iceland. I am re-booked for tomorrow and I added a day to my hotel reservation. The flight tomorrow could get cancelled as well; if so, I will not make it to my first overnight Shift Leader shift at the experiment Monday night and they will have to find a replacement.

love,  bro’

-Nightingale

Sky will be delivering letters to Brown Mailboxes selected at random.

Nightingale will give letters to people who look sad in the rain.

I flew solo yesterday. This called for a change of tactics. I chose to go unnoticed. I made my offerings in secret. Unseen, I buried my letters; stealthily nestling them in books. They lie quietly. Waiting. Perhaps in vain.
-Sky

I wrote more letters than I handed out yesterday. It’s been interesting to see how the letters’ content has changed from lighthearted (a Proactiv ad that says “what up jessica”) to letters that express an overwhelming amount of gratitude. I wasn’t aware I was so thankful. After writing letters I began contacting people I had lost contact with. When I tried to write in my diary later however, I had nothing to say.

-Nightingale

Sky will be inserting letters into books that have intriguing covers at the RISD library.

Nightingale is not sure where she’ll be but most likely a coffee shop.

I wore postage stamps on my face and in my hair tonight. With every letter I give out, I definitely feel like I am sending a part of myself out into the world. A word to the wise: quick getaways are tricky when you are carrying a basket.

-Sky

Every good night starts with a fire truck, ambulance, and police officer. We walked downtown, along the river, through multiple bars, karaoke bars…so many scenes in such a small area. We gave letters to artists, the homeless, the drunks, and the creeps.

-Nightingale

Adventure walking. All over. Find us.

Duck and Bunny was pretty low key. The Basketcases needed some down time.

This morning I woke up with more red allergic bumps on my arms so I wrote some letters. I’m feeling strangely grateful. It’s kind of nice when your skin looks like shit, sort of an excuse to throw your arms up in the air. I really love the people in my life.

-Nightingale

Sneaker pimps + watermelon lime ice tea are a basketcase’s delight.
My letter writing has become my outlet. My vehicle for dispensing of the things I can no longer carry with me-the things I can’t say- the things I wish I had said- silly things- insane things. Lets face it, we can’t always be profound and not everything is supposed to make sense. Sometimes life is absurd.

-Sky

Duck & Bunny