Tuesday, September 13, 2005


David and I have our political disagreements, and that's putting it mildly. He calls me a fascist, I call him a communist. But he is hilariously funny, a brilliant writer, and very kind - basically, he's just a delicate little flower who has never been allowed to bare his fragile, child-like spirit before the harsh, cruel world.
He's been silent in the past couple of weeks, at least as far as blogging goes. But now I can see that it's all worth it, for he has been producing a work of genius, a novel - his third.

Well, I know it's unorthodox for a fascist like me, but I'm going to do every I can to make sure that his writing doesn't get suppressed. Go read the fragments of his novel just posted on his blog - they'll make you think, they'll make you laugh, they'll make you cry. And when you're done, join me, and we will march on his home in Greensborough and drag his fragile child-like spirit out into the harsh light of day and get him published. Because talent like this can't just be wasted.

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