TO TRIBECA H. CLIFFESDAUTEUR, THE SEATTLE TIMES

October 7, 2010 69 Wary Street Whytown USA

Madam,

I got a woody reading the piece Oui magazine might have done this week on The Seattle Times, had Playboy not pulled up stakes on its Oui experiment back in 1981. In addition to wishing you the warmest rainy season to date, I’d also like to offer my services. Since I haven’t seen a copy of today’s Times yet, I’ll have to make this a tentative offer.

I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house then into a noir moonbeam the last time I took a job with a paper I didn’t know anything about (imagine undisclosed clippings) & I’m quite ready to go charging up another blind alley.

By the time you get this letter, I’ll have gotten hold of today’s issue of The Seattle Times. Unless it looks entirely mirthless, I’ll let my offer stand. & don’t think that my miscegeny is unintentional: it’s just that I’d rather upend-n-blend now than after I started working for you.

I didn’t make myself clear to the last man I worked for until after I took the job. It was as if Wahoo Capybara had suddenly found himself working for the drag queen equivalent of Christine O’Donnell. The man denied me self-gratification, of course, and I had nothing but contempt for him and the cliché he rode in on. If you asked him, he’d tell you that I’m “not very tactful, (that I) once ate people to survive, (that I) just want to be massaged reciprocally via the written word medium, and (that I) feel too postcoital to mingle with the average rube.” (That’s a direct quote from a memo he sent to the publisher.)

Nothing is dodgier than the promise of affordable medical & dental in the 21st Century.

Of course if you asked some of the other people I’ve worked for, you may get a different set of answers ..and a nice parting gift.

If you’re interested enough to answer this letter, I’ll be glad to furnish you with a list of references — including the gal I work mere wonders for every now & then.

This year’s DBIS drivel should give you a rough idea of who I am. It’s pushing a year old, however, although I’ve not changed a bit since it was written. I’ve taken no writing courses aside from noodling the http://www.surf, as my spare time is spent counting IV tubes, sodium chloride bags & saline syringes, learning a sperm whale of a lot about the nursing business, while, like most sentient beings, developing a healthy contempt for politically partisan corporate journalism as a Machiavellian endgame paradigm.

As far as I’m concerned, it’s a goddamned shame that a field as once potentially dynamic & vital as journalism should be overrun with dullards, shills & toadies, instead of crucial bums like Arlo Guthrie’s dad & Christopher `Supertramp` McCandless; barflies like Hank C. Bukowski, Jack Kerouac, Tennessee Williams, & Hans Bennett; and inexorable hacks like the late great Hunter S. Thompson, Kurt Vonnegut, Ralph Waldo Emerson, & Professor Howard Zinn. In the late august words of Raoul Duke himself, “…hag-ridden with myopia, apathy, and complacence, and generally stuck in a bog of stagnant mediocrity.” If this is what you’re trying to get The Seattle Times away from, then I think I’d like to work for you.

Most of my experience has been in rhythmic drivel, but I can write everything from meandering romantic poppycock to confutation of canted talking point rhetoric; from odes to burned books & sappy film reviews to purposeful restaurant service-improving gorilla ontology.

I can work any hour of the day if necessary, live on any seasonable breadcrumb, and don’t give a wholly heck for pop obscurity, officialdom of any sort, or converse public opinion.

I would rather remain on the dole than work for a paper I would not use to amend my raised garden bed.

It’s a long way from here to [a] John Street [espresso kiosk], but we’re practically neighbors via the Internet.

As an autodidact product of public schools and community colleges, you can expect my style and syntax to be occasionally raw (but genuinely rhythmical). Edit liberally.

If you think you can use me, drop me an idiom in a PM.

If not, we’ll see you on the other side in 2012. Sincerely,

Messybear Brookside

~`~ ~`~

"No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won't hurt." ~ HST

http://www.zcommunications.org/media-activists-challenge-fcc-by-hans-bennett

http://www.insubordination.blogspot.com/

http://www.whitelotuseast.com/TantraCouples.htm