LETTERS FROM MR. EASLEY

Letter No. 110: Grace Santa Maria

Dear Grace Santa Maria,

I write you mostly as today as after you discovered my many endeavors you asked me to write you a letter and you provided me your mailing address. However as I’ve written only a small number over a hundred letters you’re in nothing short of amazing company who’ve received letters I’ve written. You’re among world leaders, fashion designers, fortune 500 companies and even Yeezy. One day I hope my letters are akin to when the Pope “splashes” people with holy water. I’m not sure he does that, but in any case.

Additionally included with my “Pope splash-esque” letter is an equally great polaroid of model’s shoes from a shoot recreating the style of Japanese photographer Yonehara Yasumasa for the art/photography/design book I’m currently developing thru my Cherry Collaborative. I know from both personal experience in the office and now today following you on tumblr that you seem to have a fetish for shoes. Hopefully leopards as well.

Naturally when Cherry Collaborative blows up I expect you to jump ship and join the effort in whatever is you do.

I began this letter first pondering how it is you have three names all that, I’m gathering, are aside from your middle name. I would refer to myself as Chandler Jay Easley but the formality seems even far too pompous for me. I’m in need of a hyphen-less double last name.

Santa Easley, if you will.

You’re a marketing person, right? Make it happen. I need a press release big cat. Additionally I’ll need you in exchange for this letter and polaroid to help develop a letter for payment service. Celebrities and corporations will pay one time or continual sums for actual letters directed to them or simple name drops.

Naturally if you broker this letter for payment service well I’ll break you off. Rich off cocaine type bread. With our success will be able to start a letter service firm Project3000. 3000, the year when we’ll be so rich from this we will be able to control the world’s paper supply. People we don’t fuck with will be forced to blog not because it’s the future and print media is dead but because we won’t give them our paper.

Let me know when you start.

Sincerely,

Mr. Chandler Santa Easley

P.S. I’ll expect a return gift, I accept most gift cards, cash, fuji professional film in 35mm/120/Quickload formats, cannabis, and food/beverage or a combination of any or all.

Letter No. 109: Mike Jones

Dear Mike Jones,

I begin this letter not knowing if you’re even alive, completely aside from any potential homelessness or destitute state you might be in and resulting problems of mailing addresses etc. that might ensue once I finish writing this letter. In all honesty I wouldn’t be the person to ask as to your condition but for the time being as feel like you’re an apt recipient for my thoughts at the moment I shall digress.

I used to think Mike Jones was degenerate, and he probably is but it goes without saying he is a visionary. A horrific rapper and entertainer who’s gimmicks seemed endless. From repeating lines over and over to giving away your actual phone number in song, you seemingly lacked any skill at all was simply a promotional machine geared to rap. You’d have potentially made a great used car sales man or swap meet promotional personality. You may in fact be pursuing either as I write. I say this because it seems only through God’s graces have you stopped rapping and figuratively fallen off the face of the Earth. Whereabouts unknown.

I’m honestly curious as to why you repeated the your lines over and over. Is it simply an artist gesture of emphasis or born out of overt laziness. We may never know. Additionally, I have to imagine you no longer have the phone number you gave out, and probably forever ruined. It’s not like anyone can have it ever again. Asshole teenagers with more free-time than sense from all over suburban white America must prank call that number in an unknowingly joint effort non-stop. 

However after essentially ridiculing you for essentially three paragraphs, you do have one note worthy statement that proves all to true. Back then hoes didn’t want me, Now I’m hot they all on me. Brilliant. Aside from a number of grammatical errors that many in higher education would chalk up to what’s known as American Ebonic vernacular, it’s bold statement that I personally have found bears a great deal of truth. 

I first wonder if you were actually hot when you came up with these words, and if that has an relevance, but regardless for myself it mostly relates to my work doing test shoots with models. Back as early as April I began test shooting models and to be quite honest in the beginning serious agency represented models wouldn’t give me the time of day, let alone shoot with me. And here we are less than five months later and just today alone I’ve received contact from models interested in shooting with me from agencies like Ford, Wilhelmina, Q Models, Next, and Major. By the beginning of September I probably won’t shoot with any model not represented by a major agency unless they’ve agreed to blow me before and after shooting. To say your timeless catch phrase would be such bold statement of the obvious it’s borderline retarded, but that being said nothing could be more true.

Sincerely,

Mr. Chandler Easley

603 W. 115th St. #177
New York, NY 10025