Dear Joop,

I understand the need to have your name heard, known, believed, trusted. You found one way to become visible, a real person.  I see you.

Joop, you have opened it.  You have fine hair or dreadlocks.  You drink water, soda or coffee.  Your skin is brown/white/black/tan/golden/red.  Who loves you?  Where do you live?  You are the artist who dares, one of the tricksters who wants to be recognized for audacity.  Maybe I’m the one who loves you.

Joop, you don’t care how high the street sign is.  You are ten feet tall, you own my street, your name is written all over this small feudal kingdom.  Would you feed us if we knew your name?  That’s how this works.  If we know your name, we will expect something in return, protection or support or inspiration of some kind.  These are interesting times.  Are you ready to be our inspiration?  There is much more to fame than I ever imagined.

M. says your tag isn’t pretty but I see that you are well traveled, the urban gossip of my neighborhood repeating one statement until we finally receive it.  Or maybe it is endless lines you copy so that you can remember who you are, learn the lesson at last.  Every street corner will remind you of you.  You will never forget again.  Or Joop is new to you, a first time rental and you want to make it official.  You are prolific, fearless, disciplined, insatiable.  You take the space without waiting for an invitation that never comes.

Joop, is this a magic word, not a tag at all but the syllable that is the name of god, of peace, of wonder, an important new word in our language that you alone herald?  When I say “Joop” aloud, nothing happens that I can see, but so many vital things will never be seen in that way.  I believe that chaos dances with order.  I believe in the butterfly wing that causes the super storm.  I believe Joop will keep writing scribble, Sanskrit or Enochian until I make the choice to read it with more than my eyes.  I cannot miss it.  I cannot run from it.  Joop holds me captive.  Joop distracts me from small screens and my own headphones drowning out the din.  Joop teases me awake.

Joop, you carry a message from the unseen realms.  They can’t erase it all.  Every Joop I see is a breath closer to the divine, our inner fire, her mouth, the moon, his laughter, the joy I chase.  Every Joop I see is a step away from the cage, the chains, the tight chest, the sinister task list of things To Do.  Maybe I want to find you.  Maybe I want to follow you.  Maybe I want to paint my own message.  Maybe I will remember to make art and sign my name.

Thank you.

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