To Willing Conflators Of Adrian Piper, Jeremy Todd And Some Reflective Surfaces Across Millennia, Techno-Cultural Paradigms And Ongoing Struggles For Meaningful Solidarity (first letter)

When I confront You through the Not Sent Letters project, my only tools, my only weapons, are what appears for you through it.  This appearance tells You who I am:  My dress tells You what I am, my body tells You its history in its behavior, my face tells You what I think of You in smiles and grimaces.  My appearance tells You more than I want You to know (but not enough):  My efforts to conventionalize, to neutralize my gestures, to empty them of messages for You inevitably fail.  Even if my behavior and my appearance mean nothing, You read them nevertheless.  You create a history for me despite myself.
“You” here is me.
But this is my defense.  You infuse my appearance with meaning;  my letters compound gestures which signal to you.  So they become deliberate:  I know that my choice is only between signals and silence.  My gestures, appearances, expressions are all planned and polished by years of open rehearsals.  My only concern is that messages I convey to You be coherent, that the images conjured are familiarly intimate.  I know that You will help make it so:  For the more fully, raggedly, incoherently I confront you with letters not sent such as this one, the more completely you retreat.  But I will not confront You, and You cannot retreat.
“You” here is you.
The You that could be us remains the idea I’m trying to realize.
I want the “I” here to be you.