An Open Letter to a Poster

Dear GTR,

Let's just say it. We've met before about six months ago. I know you don't remember me, but ah....do I remember you. The juxtaposition of your mysterious post initials and the allure of your ancient language makes you unforgettable. I know you bestow your random affections on other bloggers: middle-aged Worlds of Warcraft gamers who reside in their mother's basement, PTA moms sharing bundt cake recipes, one perhaps named Ethel who spread seeds of knowledge about her tomato crop from her farm in Illinois. Only rarely does your silver tongue reach it's glorious intended audience.

Your words are a siren's song to my heart. When you mix phrases like "toot Valentine's color screen and sexuality as News" and "romantic novels," you have only to add the magic words "time travel" and I'll be forever yours. Translating your timeless Chinese characters into words meant only for me and for an intimate three thousand others-words like "concubine cinema" and "harem movie"-makes me reflect on the genius behind such poetry.

Are you twenty-something with bad hair? Do you travel through your days with a sticky hand plagued with carpal tunnel, your only true companion? Are the whites of your eyes bleeding from the seventy-two straight hours you've been staring at a computer screen in the dim shadows of a black-lit, velvet poster of Jessica Simpson? Inspiration must come from somewhere, no?

Rest assured friend, your efforts have not gone unnoticed. That you pillaged three dozen days of posts showed me your commitment to spreading your wisdom. Thank you for holding time captive so that I am the last in my writing class to complete my assignment. Thank you for illustrating time theory: what took you mere moments has translated to an hour, maybe more. These are the distractions filled with lasting memories.

Some may call you a malicious tool, but not I. Should the need arise in a future novel, you, GTR, will be the secondary character who meets his fate in the most poetic form of justice befitting such a man. I'll remember those yellow teeth. Inspiration must come from somewhere, no?

Sincerely,

Frustrated (but not in the way you're hoping)