Ramblings of a Desiccated Mind

I should be ignoring this by now, but instead I'll reply publically to this mail Anonymous sent me, thereby feeding the neediness and pathetic jumping up and down crying to get me to notice how important he is:

You should try to sell the story I *helped* you with. Or you could just post it somewhere to be critiqued, you know? I think something pretty interesting could be learned by doing this. Give it a shot. Nothing to lose, besides, they're my words, formed around a little of your premise (the heist), and done in a kind of stream of consciousness, throwaway fashion that sometimes yields results.

If I submitted your contrived shit, then that would be plagiarism, and I respect other writers enough (even you) not to misrepresent myself with someone else's work.

Anyway, do what you will, the copyright to the revamped "The Jeweler" exists in cyberspace as your copyright, if you still have the comments pages available to yourself, if not everyone else...so do what you will. DO WHAT YOU WILL, MWAH-HA-HA!

This story is already registered with the government as material copyrighted by me, and my version, thank you, is already available in a shitty, paperback anthology.

Oh, and a question, did you find out if dead flesh would still blister under the "onslaught" of acid? I'd be interested in knowing if it does; personally, I don't think it would, since that's a metabolic reaction, and dead things don't have a metabolism, but you know, I could be wrong.

I don't even know what the fuck you're talking about -- please do not write to clarify, as I don't care.

Keep writing, even if you never, ever make it. Dreams are good to have, as long as they're not delusions.

Peace, and success, Grampy.

Here I'll take the high road and tell you that on the day you experience 1/10 the pain/heartbreak/betrayal/insanity that I have then I'll accept your sarcastic best wishes.

Until then, child, on the road to humility remember to keep your head down.

HBO's season premier of Six Feet Under happens tonight. I know it's banal and predictable that this particular horror writer enjoys the show about a funeral home, but I relate to the Nate character, and I think the writing on that series is the best on TV right now. Plus, the surrealist elements are really well done. Excellent television drama, IMO.

So, Little Rat writes me again.

I tried responding to the E-mail, knowing full well it would bounce from the service that it was sent from.

Not only does it bounce, but I get the auto-reply that contains this:

The Melon Traffickers' Remailer is a free service that allows individuals including crime victims, domestic violence victims, persons in recovery, and others, such as those living under oppressive regimes, to communicate confidentially in a manner that ensures their privacy under even the most adverse conditions.

So, Little Rat has used a noble service designed for communication to assault me with his trivial concerns for my stupid writing.

I mentioned before that you were a scum bag, Little Rat.

Now I'm positive.

Here's Little Rat's e-mail address that he sent his latest bit of waste to me from: juicy@melontraffickers.com

And here's the addy that he sent his previous bit of filth from: cripto@ecn.org

If someone with more 'Net savvy then me knows what to do with this, tell me, and let's go do it.