LETTERS FROM MR. EASLEY

Letter No. 108: Dwanye Carter

Dear Dwanye Carter,

I’ve written a letter to someone every week day for the last twenty two weeks. This friday I’ll have written over a hundred and ten letters. That being said it has made me hesitant to want to fall into this seemingly new age pop-culture trap of “write Weezy a letter while he’s in jail”. Not that I’m oppose to people doing that or think it’s a bad way to spend your time while in prison. That being said here I am writing you a letter. 

I saw on the Forbes list of wealthiest hip-hop moguls or whatever Forbes likes to call their list you made twenty million dollars last year. And to be quite honest having, spending, saving or otherwise that amount of money doesn’t particularly impress me. I would be happy with considerably less than that, and something tells me you would be too. 

However the ability to gain that kind of wealth certainly says something about the perfection of your craft. I consider myself a fan of Hip-Hop and have since probably grammar school, and you’re certainly not one of my favorite rappers. I don’t think you’re particular bad per-say, but some people with developed fine art acumen’s don’t like Ellsworth Kelly, but I think he’s probably the best painter living. But even people in the fine art world who don’t like his work with any sense respect his craft and the same is true in regard to my feelings on your music. 

There’s good music I don’t particularly like, the same as almost any other medium, I if wonder other people feel the same. I’d be curious to know your thoughts on the subject.

In watching a short clip on this Forbes list, I heard Russell Simmons say something to the effect of “life is about perfecting your craft and not worrying about anything else”. And at the moment that hits home as a brilliant thought, so much of the world and it’s many opportunities rely on others who when push comes to shove may or may not come thru on their word or at all. But regardless if you perfect your craft as best you can end of the day I have to imagine with any luck you’ll come thru. Perhaps not exactly as you had imagined but all the wiser for it. Opportunities come and go, when one ceases through none of your own doing another will eventually arise, the key is seeing things for what they are and realizing your own abilities will forever be the constant in the experiment that is life.

It’s funny realizing things like that. The world is a strange place and the more you think you have it all figured out the less you really do. You can stack your books in perfectly balanced stack and one day the wind will blow open the top book. Do you close it and fix the stack or do you just decide to spend the next hour rereading the book? Food for thought.

Sincerely,

Mr. Chandler Easley

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

Letter No. 107: Justin Bieber

Dear Justin Bieber,

You probably get crazy amounts of fan mail. But if I’m not really a fan does it qualify as fan mail? There’s hate mail, but even my harshest letters to celebrities and the like I wouldn’t qualify as “hate mail”. Hate as we all should know is a strong word. What’s the middle ground. Just mail? You probably get little if any regular mail. You’re sixteen so the Con-Edison bill probably has your mom’s name on it. And I think you’re not old enough to have a credit card, even though you probably have crazy bread. Maybe shit is different in Canada. I don’t know. Never been there.

If you’re still reading you’re probably wondering why the fuck is this dude writing me a letter. When is it going to become wildly creep like the rest of your correspondence from adult men, but fortunately you’re mistaken. I barely know who you are. In fact I’m only writing you because my dude (pause) Yeezy tweeted you a few times and I figure if he fucks with you why shouldn’t I. 

I’m still not going to listen to your music. I heard that Baby song with Ludacris, who by the way is super washed up I’m not a celebrity nor am I famous and I wouldn’t answer his calls, asked myself why? Buddy, you’re sixteen and rich, even if you were sixteen and broke I would tell you don’t sweat a bitch. For starters all the hot ones you know, about half of them when their metabolism kicks in for the worst, they’re going to put on like ten to twenty pounds mostly in the wrong places. Secondly some of the  ugly ones that are smart and have good personalities will be hot, those are the ones you want. But look out for the ugly ducklings that will get hot but have serious issues with men.

Regardless of all that, you have two platinum albums that to me seem like the same shit twice. I haven’t listened to either, but you just added “2.0” how much different can your world be a year later. If I had as many grown and adolescent women alike jocking me as hard as they do you I’d be doing some extra shit just cause. Stuff that in all reality is disgusting and the idea that people get off on it is pretty sickening, but only because you could get away with it. I’m talking like make threesomes look like some tame regular people shit, like never use an actual toilet again if you get my drift. Fist girls only so you can be so disgusted with them letting you do that you never want to see them again kind sort of thing. 

Anyhow, I would say you could get on the record me and Kanye are working on but that would be a lie. I don’t want you on it. No offense. I’ll give you’re a popular guy and you sell lots of records. But seriously, I watched a video of you freestyling on Tim Westwood’s radio show and wanted to kill myself. 

Sincerely,

Mr. Chandler Easley

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

Letter No. 106: SAIS

Dear Sais,

Thanks for both the prints. I would have scanned them on my flat bed and shown them to the world but as you know they wouldn’t fit. Not even close. So I had to photograph them, and I like the whole tactical and tangible quality of my blog, in that everything exists in the real world. These words end up on actual paper you can hold. I put those polaroids in my private collection that to go along with my polaroids of you know who naked, my sneakers, stuff from my mom’s condominium, and a random assortment of other polaroids. Important shit.

Speaking of important you’re suppose to release your mixtape tomorrow. I read about five minutes ago it’s delayed needless to say I expect advance copy as soon as possible. Way before the rest of these regular people. You’re probably, well maybe, asking yourself why would I send this fool my mixtape any earlier than the rest of the world.

Is it because he’s your co-collaborator (pause) in the famed Cherry Collaborative? That’s a good reason but no. Is it because he’s working on a song with Kanye arguable the best musician of the last six years? Again that’s a great reason, as well because he, myself, agreed to let you get on the remix of our song Letters from Mr. Easley C/O Kanye West (that’s the working title) in exchange for bringing James Watts white jordan 4s from over a decade ago, for a shoot he didn’t even have the nerve to show up for and instead is hiding in Maryland. But no, that’s not it. Is it because today at his test shoot with Wilhelmina model and the extremely hot, Tanaya Henry, he convinced her to model your Tiger tee, not only giving the “Rawr” face but wearing what I believe is cheetah print, although it could be leopard, underwear? Yes, mostly that. Included are the polaroids of said underwear and “Rawr” face. It looks as though she stretched out the neck of your tee, but really that’s her problem.

Real talk, she is bad. So as to save myself from any creepiness I’m going to spare my remaining thoughts from this letter that in effect is public document in the mere chance she googles me or really depending on my SEO even herself. But it goes without saying and is pretty much fact, although we don’t have a solid date yet, they’ll be more shoots with her and myself. In the paraphrased and perhaps re-worded words of Jay Z “Throw ya Cherry up”.

Sincerely,

Mr. Chandler Easley

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

P.S. I wish they had distance running for money. Like pick up games or pool hall shit. Like $50 the first to Battery Park from Harlem. That’d be so hype.