nic sheff, mon semblable, mon frere!

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ah, nic sheff. nic sheff, nic sheff, nic sheff. you have quickly become one of my admired authors. one of my heroes so swiftly. your memoire had me swooning when i wasn't cringing. you are a literary young man--i hope i do not insult you by noting that you regard my allusion to Mr. T. S. Elliott, however i may have misspelled his iconic name.

i am unapologetic in my signature practice of the utilization of absent capitalizations and arcane spellings. and obsessions with anything worthy. anything beautiful.

ah, nic sheff. nic sheff, nic sheff, nic sheff.
you don't blog anymore publicly. i would have been honoured to snoop some more at:

New Dawn Transmission - Nic Sheff's Journal of Recovery

you are accomplished and published. you are such, SUCH the "beautiful boy" that your father waxes on in pride, nevertheless.
can i flirt with you by saying that i am published as as well? i am a sad young literary woman? my teachers in high school all cried at my graduation (literally and quite audibly enough to ruin my picture) when i announced that i would be pursuing medical school? that i am envisioning myself to be a younger Anne Rice writing creepy semi-fictitious tales from my old hometown in Yazoo City, Mississippi -- full of its witch, ghosts, and walking-dead residents? the history, the names, the graves, the families, the locations... all are emblazoned in my brain from reality, and i'm weaving them into something that my aunt frankly claims will be a "Best-motherfruckin'-Seller!" and i'm pretty. and i'm single. and i don't think it weird of you to think of a young girl's scarred wrists as "hot". i've got scars of my own, but surely the both of of us have grown up some for our own sakes. and yeah, i admit that i know the ways of a drug seizing control of all of my body--in all too familiar of a way that you have gone into detail about in Tweak. i'm only preserving some of my modesty. and flirting. i know Effexor, Seroquel, Lexapro, Klonopin, in-patient stays, dismissals, a broken engagement to be married, despair, and the whirlwind cycle that we are always in and never taming. me for more than half of my 22 year-old life. oh, boy.

ah, nic sheff. nic sheff, nic sheff, nic sheff.
where have you gone? are you alive and well? alive as an artist. a beautiful man? it seems as f you are so imminent and transcendent at the same time, like celebrities are, like God is. but don't listen to me preach to you for one second. because, you know. you hate that sort of thing. and who said that i would be good at it anyway?

ah, nic sheff. nic sheff, nic sheff, nic sheff.
how tall are you? who do you doubt your attractive appearance? how deep is your voice? can i touch your fun-looking hair? do you like petite, teeny-tiny, intelligent, well-read, discerning, triumphant, victorious young ladies (younger than you) with a taste for the grotesque and the existential with a load of rude adulterations thrown inside? what do you think that we could talk about? i like to imagine that we have walked a road not too far diverged. i like to think that i like boys who are as singularly unique as quirky as i am. boys who won't ever be understood no matter how many pages they pen. i like boys that i know because i know the ways of myself. and i am a Libra with merciless charms and a hopeless inclinations to romance and relations. (or, you know, an email and some correspondence)

did i mention that i am pretty? that i am an ex-Hooters Girl building my life up into something after University gilded and worthy. beauty from the ashes attributing to my stained lungs.aged enough to date you or, just post about my fanship.

ah, nic sheff. nic sheff, nic sheff, nic sheff. mon semblable, mon frere! would that we could talk.... maybe when i am published again, you could shake my hand or give me a hug. maybe i'm going to sit up a little more and wake up now. and when anyone asks me why i'm giggling for no obvious reason, i'll just click my tongue and giggle some more.

would that we could share anything. "everything."

here's hoping to a good Google ranking and your intrigue. i'm a fan. only because i know both value and worth. and isn't it the saying that goes: it takes one to know one?
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4 comments:

Kim NguyenMarch 29, 2011 at 1:53 PM
You are too adorable. I thought one who wrote I was the only one who wrote long and elaborate letters out to the authors I crushed on!

You worked at Hooter's? Awesome sauce.
♥cherry.March 29, 2011 at 8:19 PM
aww! you're adorable back! and OF COURSE i have my author Loves! just look at him on the left! verrry nice! yeah, i was a Hooters Girl. in high school. and the cheerleading captain. i was something else! wooo!
Bookish SpazzMarch 29, 2011 at 10:12 PM
I hope you get to meet him one day! And woo him. And have babies with him.
Kim NguyenMarch 30, 2011 at 12:37 AM
Good taste in the lads, m'dear! Aw man, in high school everyone thought I was that bitchy weird girl. Ha.

I woulda hollered at you if I knew you were so close and we could've had some deep south fun timez.

Think about how it feels before you submit--my only policy. And check back for responses/replies! I strongly encourage and often give feedback!

Tuesday, March 29, 2011