August 11th, 2025 - An Unashamed Proposal
Dear TNY,
Just quit reading the chode that is “An Unashamed Proposal” at around a thousand words.
Too many characters arriving too quickly without any defining characterization. Terribly overwrought, and not in the brilliant, Nabokov kind of way. I just felt like there was no way in, from sentence one. I kept trying to stumble around in it, but I just could latch on to anything. Which, again, maybe is my fault. But I’m a reader too, goddamn it, and especially with reading, if your art doesn’t engage with the reader, it doesn’t matter what your intentions are or your agenda. Your story doesn’t fucking exist if no one reads it. You do not have ownership over my time, or anyone’s time. It’s something we all give to you. Or don’t. Earn it. Or don’t.
In this case you did not.
I’m in Seattle now. I’ve got some minor remodel work upcoming and I’m living in an apartment that has been abandoned for a few years. It was gross. I cleaned it up. The parking is shit. Fuck, there was shit in the toilet when I moved in. The shower should be condemned. I guarantee water is seeping through the rotten silicone and unsealed grout and getting into the subfloor. But it’s a cool house and deserves to be saved. This work won’t do that. Also, the tiny park in front of the house that is loaded with homeless who yell and battle with themselves all day is a quaint touch. I felt bad for yesterday’s guy. He was ranting for four hours. I watched out the window as people walked right by him as he threw fists and shouted at unseen demons. I mean, how much more invisible can you be? I can relate to that. I’m sure we all can. He’s just doing the ultimate test and not backing down. Which I’m sure has damaged his brain. I wanted to engage with him, ask him what was wrong. But I was scared, you know? I’m a huge pussy and I don’t need someone that might be violent watching me walk back to a door in a building I don’t live in that is 200 feet from where this guy lives, apparently. So I pussed out. I’m sorry.
I don’t know what to do with this life anymore.
My youngest already drove over a sprinkler head in someone’s yard. I have no idea how one does that as I have never in my 44 years. He did it day two with his license. I explained home loans to my oldest and how they work and the additional costs. He got a little sad. He thought it was easier. I feel him on that one. It’s a fucking shell game in which the house always wins (house puns!).
I’m not even sad anymore. Just, like, white noise. A bright fizzy screen of white noise. I mean, today is about 80% panic attack and I just shit water twice from the anxiety levels. But boy howdy, I’m sticking with it. Guess I ought to get back to my little unit and paw at the meat that swings between my legs with the hope that one day someone will be excited to do it for me. I sure am excited to repay the favor. As many-fold as possible.
Nick
