A strange email I received
Dear Sir,
You don't know me. I don't expect you to have followed the progression of my art through the easily lost medium of the Internet. Besides, I am unsanctioned, so I cannot claim authority when I ask you to refrain from posting these terrible misives regarding our mutual obsession with Alicia. Regardless of the obvious differences in our view of this woman, I will attempt a thorough examination of the evidence, hopefully in my favor, so that this wonderful addition to humanity might be relieved, despite her obvious lack of concern on either of our parts, of the burden of the evil fem.
Where can I begin? Describing her scent and color as cinnamon seems tacky and cliche, but how else can I speak of this gingerbread holy? Where her corruption ended our hope began, and if you were not privy to this side of her nature then I can only hope you can pity me for having received its dangers and bargains in full earnestness. She whispered 'true' as though she were the ruler of veracity, and when I lay before sleeps' pleasant escape that word rings through my essence. Leave her alone.
She spoke of you well, and I hold no grudge toward you, despite her habit toward the end of our affair of mocking practically every portal from which her delivery to me was assured. When she met my friend the architect I felt the cold chill of lies as she manipulated time for the advantage of the conventional escape. I did not care, until I found your angry complaints. Now I must confront my lack as provider and lover, while you are free to imagine her as you wish for the sake of a false poetic fortitude that my own nature, alas, has denied. She weighs no more than 101 lbs., and I don't need to inform you, I am sure, of her penchant for black silk underwear, a favorite from my most plastic days.
I do, however, feel the urgent need to request you cooperation in the removal of any public discussion you may harbor regarding Alicia, as our acquaintances include some individuals with the authority to send your apparently unemployed and, without even a hint of bitterness, married self out of this country for more egalitarian and less American locals. I hope I do not sound threatening, as I have been acquainted with the Paris '68 crowd and admire them as much as the next obsessive.
Alicia has denied both our corporeal fates her own, so the next best thing I can wish is the removal of proof from any accessible medium I might find. I happen to be very skilled at finding mention of her, by the way. Enable both our escapes. Burn her memory from your mind and manuscript. She deserves the loss. She forgot the sensations.
Your most reluctant yet sincere Friend,
Tristan E.Cochrech
You don't know me. I don't expect you to have followed the progression of my art through the easily lost medium of the Internet. Besides, I am unsanctioned, so I cannot claim authority when I ask you to refrain from posting these terrible misives regarding our mutual obsession with Alicia. Regardless of the obvious differences in our view of this woman, I will attempt a thorough examination of the evidence, hopefully in my favor, so that this wonderful addition to humanity might be relieved, despite her obvious lack of concern on either of our parts, of the burden of the evil fem.
Where can I begin? Describing her scent and color as cinnamon seems tacky and cliche, but how else can I speak of this gingerbread holy? Where her corruption ended our hope began, and if you were not privy to this side of her nature then I can only hope you can pity me for having received its dangers and bargains in full earnestness. She whispered 'true' as though she were the ruler of veracity, and when I lay before sleeps' pleasant escape that word rings through my essence. Leave her alone.
She spoke of you well, and I hold no grudge toward you, despite her habit toward the end of our affair of mocking practically every portal from which her delivery to me was assured. When she met my friend the architect I felt the cold chill of lies as she manipulated time for the advantage of the conventional escape. I did not care, until I found your angry complaints. Now I must confront my lack as provider and lover, while you are free to imagine her as you wish for the sake of a false poetic fortitude that my own nature, alas, has denied. She weighs no more than 101 lbs., and I don't need to inform you, I am sure, of her penchant for black silk underwear, a favorite from my most plastic days.
I do, however, feel the urgent need to request you cooperation in the removal of any public discussion you may harbor regarding Alicia, as our acquaintances include some individuals with the authority to send your apparently unemployed and, without even a hint of bitterness, married self out of this country for more egalitarian and less American locals. I hope I do not sound threatening, as I have been acquainted with the Paris '68 crowd and admire them as much as the next obsessive.
Alicia has denied both our corporeal fates her own, so the next best thing I can wish is the removal of proof from any accessible medium I might find. I happen to be very skilled at finding mention of her, by the way. Enable both our escapes. Burn her memory from your mind and manuscript. She deserves the loss. She forgot the sensations.
Your most reluctant yet sincere Friend,
Tristan E.Cochrech
posted by The Softest Person at 4:49 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home