Lisa Rae Cunningham’s Letter to SwinkOnline

Subject: MAYBE SOMEDAY…

…I will know if you’ve read the short story I submitted six months ago. It’s called, This Is How We Communicate Now. It wouldn’t be entirely irrelevant of me to note that my current attempt at human contact with *the swink people* lends a ring of truth to the substance of my story… But what disgusting hubris, right?! Maybe you *swink people* are just another society lost to progress. Well, if I don’t hear back from you by November I’ll include Swinkians in my ode to folks of yore swallowed by the shadows of genocide before digging into a pile of Tofurkey with leguminous side items and desserts that will never satisfy my American soul the way a real carcass would. If there is any mention of God, I will again include Swinkians in the parade of imaginary friends.

4 good reasons to publish my work:
1. I am not a vegetarian.
2. I am an atheist only sometimes.
3. I am always clever unless I’m dealing with a man, which inevitably happens (I have a nice ass) and then leads to more happenings like suicide or salsa lessons or fancy dinners or birthday parties in the projects or starfucking or emo indie rock abuse or confessions of secret transgender compulsions or skipping town indefinitely or babies who become kids who become adults who have babies and on down the line… This keeps me in prose.
4. It might be nonsense, but it’s stylish and has good flow.

Best,
Lisa Rae Cunningham

LISA RAE CUNNINGHAM is a massage therapist in Los Angeles. When she’s not peacefully sunk elbow-deep in nude human she works at literary composure, a transcendentalist of bodies and language. She writes poetry, fiction, memoir, essays, music profiles, lyrics, screenplays and is a contributing writer at The Nervous Breakdown, The Rumpus and Amie Street. Once in a blue moon something of hers is published on paper made of real trees, which totally turns her on. (Sorry. Go hug an iPad.) She lives seaside with her rad son in Venice. Facebook. Twitter.

Michael McLaughlin’s Letter to Jesus

Dear Jesus,

Watch your back, Judas is a dick.

Catch you on the flip side,
Michael McLaughlin

Mike Roberts’ Letter to: Me, circa 1983

To Me, circa 1983:

 

You know what? you really need to stop being so whiny..I was just going through a box of books down in my (yours? OUR?) parents’ basement( K owns the house now and is renovating and wanted all the crap cleared out first). Of course, in your world, it’s still in the upstairs bedroom and you are still using this stuff and the books are all still on that horrid pre-fab bookcase that came with the house when we moved into it in 1978. Anyway, part of the stuff where those “Nothing Books” that they were selling at the Coles at the Mall…and I was re-reading the stuff you wrote (will write, I guess) over the course of this school year….all that crap you worry about and complain about and wish you didn’t have to do? Guess what? I’d give my left ball to be back there and have the chance to do that stuff.

So, man up and get down to it….except if you DO, you DO get to go to University in 1983 and not 1999 and then everything changes…no Carol, no trip to Chicago, no Claire no anything that exists now…

 

So, uhhh. never mind…Carry on.

 

Me, in 2008.

 

 

Mike Roberts is a semi-reformed Slacker, a Dad and Writing Instructor in Kingston, Ontario who hopes that time-travelling letters do exist.

Simon Smithson’s Letter to His Own Procrastination

Hey…

Look, we’ve had some great, great times. Don’t get me wrong. Man, do you remember that time in high school when we were supposed to be getting ready for finals but a back-to-back screening ofCaddyshack and Caddyshack 2 was on? And even though Caddyshack 2 was terrible, the couch was really comfortable?

Yeah… that was awesome. I promise you that I will never, ever forget that night.

You’ve always been there when I needed you, and sometimes even when I haven’t. I can feel you in my heart right now as I write this, as a soft little voice telling me to go and look up Greenday on Wikipedia, just in case there’s some cool fact about them that I don’t know yet.

Oh, and don’t even get me started on watching old episodes of Heroes when I should be doing my tax return! It was a great, great day for us when I bought that boxed set.

But I’m older and wiser than the boy I once was, and it seems to me now that, just like it was my money that we used to buy Season One of Heroes on DVD, everything concrete that has been brought to the table in this relationship has been brought by yours truly. Sure, you can point to the fact that lying in bed for just five more minutes, and then maybe five minutes more, and then hey, well, why not just get up at quarter past? is an activity that we can do together, but that’s kinda the problem here.

It feels like we’re always doing what you want. Remember when we were going to go that party at Marcy’s but you just wanted to watch one more YouTube clip? And while I sat in the background growing more and more uncomfortable, I just couldn’t stop you from clicking on the next video of a skateboarder hurting themselves—and then you discovered Lolcats.com and the whole operation went down the tube.

It’s time for us to break up. Not tomorrow, not when the moment is right… right now. I know this is hard, and I know that it might seem cruel, but it’s the only way. You’ll find someone else, someone new. Just as soon as you get the car fixed, which you’ve been talking about for months now.

Regards,

Simon Smithson

Simon Smithson is an Australian writer. As an Australian, he has played knifey spooney before. As a writer, he prays for the day when Dan Brown sends him an invitation to one of his fabulous ‘money fight!’ parties. Simon is also currently writing and editing for www.thedoubleagent.com.

Stewart Brently’s Letter to Chocolate

Dear Chocolate,

How are you, my old friend? I had a small party this evening with
Malbec, Smoked Gouda and Aged Cheddar. The only thing missing from
making it a perfect night was YOU!

You’re really the most wonderful friend a man (or woman) could ever ask
for. You’re always available, like 7-11. You can adjust to the mood of
the moment — sometimes bitter, sometimes smooth and cool, and
sometimes you’re so sweet it makes my teeth hurt. Alone you’re terrific
and satisfying; with others you go even farther and complement with
your magical ability to blend into any occasion or circumstance. What
more could a lonely man ask for in a friend?

When I’m in need of a pick-me-up, you do the job. When I feel like
being treated to something sweet and reminiscent, you’re the perfect
match. When it’s pouring down rain outside and I’m blue, you’re only a
stone’s throw away, in unlimited supply.

The surgeon general not long ago made a claim that friends like you are
even good for the heart, and aid in fending off certain types of
cancer.

How is it, my friend, that you can be so perfect? I love you!

Yours truly,
Brently

Stewart Brently’s Letter to His Holiness, the 14th Dalai Lama

Your Holiness,

I’m sure you hear that title all the time. So, would you mind if I call you “Dalai” instead. I’d rather not call you “Lama” because it sounds too much like the animal, llama. And calling you by your birth name would obviously rob you of the respect that you deserve.

I’m sure you get this everyday, too, but I’m a huge fan. If I had my home, dignity, and everything else taken away from me, and then be ridiculed and insulted by the leaders of that Red Army next door, I’d be really pissed off. But, you, in all your greatness, have kept cool and even extended warm wishes to those commie bastards that run that monstrous bullying nation. I admire that peaceful, gentle selflessness that you embrace. Like so many before you — Christ, the Buddha, Gandhi, Mother Teresa — you are a living example of the human soul at its purest.

I wish I were rich like those lucky Hollywood guys, Richard Gere and Steven Seagal. I don’t want money for the purpose of being wealthy. I want only to have the opportunities that they have, getting to hang out with you. I can only imagine what it’s like for you guys to sit and chat over some butter tea, overlooking the Himalayas.

An old acquaintance told me that she met you some years ago, and she said that being in your presence alone was inspirational and life-changing. She also said that she witnessed you poke a young guy in the belly. This might sound ridiculous, but that’s something I’d give an arm or two for, to be able to someday tell my grandchildren that not only did I meet HH, but that he poked me in the belly. That tickles my insides just thinking about it.

Anyway, I want to say that you’re great. If you’re ever in Taiwan, look me up. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee or something, and we can kick it like buddies.

Yours truly,
Stewart Brently

Stewart Brently lives in Taipei, Taiwan (NOT! a province of China)

Michael McLaughlin’s Letter to a Tyrannosaurus Rex

Dear Tyrannosaurus Rex,

You scare the living crap out of me. I’ve always wanted to see a dinosaur, but if I had to choose between the survival of your species and having to confront you in an open field I would have sent that meteor that annihilated nearly all of Earth’s living creatures myself. Although, it was pretty awesome when you ate that goat in Jurassic Park.

I’m glad you’re dead because it would be annoying to have to carry T-Rex repellant or a T-Rex gun whenever I left my house.  Actually, I’d probably have to carry that stuff with me even in the house in case you munched through the roof and tried to eat me.

 

See you in hell,

Michael McLaughlin

Michael spends half of his free time writing, and the other half developing a T-Rex gun just in case some crazy asshole tries to clone one from mosquito blood.

Sean Irving’s Letter to Mother Nature

Dear Mother Nature, 

      The mountain was empty today, Gaia, I suppose because of the weather. On the west side, I stopped a ways down the trail and turned to face the wind—at this time of year (as you know), the cool weather makes the mountain wind crisp and biting—and, surrounded on both sides by the tall native Taiwan grass, the thick blades closely packed, I just stared into the greyness. You know how I feel when I’m alone. The silence and the closeness of this day, at that spot, perfectly created my ideal loneliness. For twenty minutes I let your wind caress my face. Nothing could move me from that spot.
      Are you planning more of the same weather for later this year? I hope so. We don’t get it that often in Taipei city because the buildings block it out. We have to go to the mountains most times to experience it.
      I know we haven’t had a meaningful contact in quite some time, and this is my fault. Most of my days are spent in the school, and I don’t have many opportunities to go and visit you. Although I see you around the city occasionally, this is not enough for me; I want to be with you always—alone and surrounded by you. I read a story recently entitled Sailing Around the World Alone. The man in this true story writes of the infinite solitude and singular aloneness that he felt drifting on the open ocean with only the lapping of the water against his little boat’s sides and the fish for company. I feel this way each and every time you and I are together, whether this be on the mountain in Taipei or on the open expanses of Saskatchewan’s Qu’ Appelle Valley.
      I look forward to seeing you again. Perhaps tomorrow, after class, we could meet on the mountain. I don’t think my wife will mind, indeed, she is quite fond of you and even will come with me sometimes to visit our favourite places.

      Be well, Gaia.
      The greatest of your passion remains with me always.

Sean Irving currently lives in Taipei, Taiwan.

James Weber’s Letter to the Guy who Cut Him Off Today

To the guy who cut me off today,

What the hell is your problem? I don’t know why you were in such a rush to get in front of me only to drive ten miles below the speed limit for the next five miles. Your driving license needs to be revoked.

Sincerely,
James Weber

James Weber is a student at Rutgers University and is dreaming of a world of sane drivers.

Michael McLaughlin’s Letter to God

Dear God,

How’re you doing, buddy? Been up to much recently besides the creation of existence and all that? It’s been a while since we’ve talked, but I know you don’t mind. Everyone down here on Earth thinks you’re some kind of asshole who gave us the gift of life just so you could sit up there monitoring and judging us. What kind of deity would create so much to experience down here and expect us to spend all of our time praising you? How conceited they think you are! They think they’re honoring you so that you will allow them into heaven. How ungrateful they must be to believe you created another place for them even better than this world? I’m sorry you have to sit around and watch them waste this precious gift you’ve given to us. Heaven is our time in this world, and I thank you for every minute.

Good luck with all future endeavors,

Michael McLaughlin