Monday, January 12, 2009
From Cupid's arrow with speed.
Not sure why the fools at Bootstrap want me up on here, but I’ve never turned down a soapbox before. The world is terrible and I’m in it. I guess you can say things have been pretty bad for me lately. I’m outgrowing the motel room I’m living in and I’m not ready to. The time isn’t right. I’m in love with a lover who won’t love me. Not yet. (Oh Katie won’t you tell me straight, how much longer do I have to wait?) So when the publishers of, I NO LONGER BELIEVE IN THE SUN: LOVE LETTERS TO KATIE COURIC, got in touch with me, I knew it was a sign that the world is ready to listen to the cries I have been screaming from rooftops and alleys. I’ll write when I get a spare moment from all the praying and planning.
In the meantime, I’m here to answer any questions you may have or to offer you spiritual advice. Pawpaw always said I’d be a healer or was it a peeler? Ehhh, either way I’m working on getting another track phone and when I do you’ll be able to give me a buzz and we can talk in person. For now though you can reach me at firstname.lastname@example.org or through the publishers.
Let’s celebrate this strange triumph with auspicious, proud and elaborate pomp, with inconceivable joy and voluptuous amusement, until we feel the pricking darts painfully sticking into our scarred hearts, the target of Cupid’s frequent arrows.
I am without in room #731.
Derek Fenner (the protagonist)
This post is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are imaginary. If the names seem to correspond to real people, places, or things, be assured they do not. They are fictitious. Any and all resemblances are coincidental, and where the names or actions of real people, places or things seem to occur, you can rest assured they have been used in imaginary ways, which is to say they are not real, even though in your heart of hearts, you think they are. But they are not real. It is fiction. Every last bit. Only the red thong is real.