this is stupid, i love
you is a publication put together by Brandon Scott Gorrell and Chelsea
Martin. I have never met either of these
people in person. One day I hope to
crash their wedding and say, “Hello, I am from the future. I am your child.” They will probably say, “How did we make you?” I will begin to tell them how sex works and
they will stop and say, “No, how did we make such an odd person? How did we make a creature that looks like an
unkempt Jeff Bridges hatched from an ostrich egg?” I will not have an answer for them. Instead, I will admit the truth and steal
some cake. Maybe I will eat it there and
they won’t bother me or maybe I will run and they will chase me. The story ends happily ever after. I don’t believe we were at that point yet
though. I wanted to talk about their
wedding night and how everyone threw Oreos at them as they rode off on their little
motorbike. Maybe it would just be me who throws Oreos. Anyway, when they
finally reach that spot of romantic togetherness I hope to jump out of the
closet again and say, “I am someone’s child, but I am not from the future.”

I will also give them their wedding present at this
point. A copy of a publication called this is fun, let’s eat cake.

Here are a few glimpses at what TIFLEC will have to offer
the reader.

Songs of songs of songs found rewritten the sun rose:

Happy sunrise on your head…Wishes for enjoyable wagon rides in the park even if it rains or birds shit all
over the sidewalk…I’m on your brain while creepy airplanes bring you to worlds
with different kinds of ant hills…subtracting one out of the bundle of numbers I
gathered from a calendar store the day you left…letting my inkstained fingers
play piano on some old college ruled pages from my institution days…there’s a
seat in the old café where you used to pray on the last day of the week…sometimes
I put it in the microwave so it doesn’t get cold and the owner of the café tells
me not to do it again…when you return I will say, “Hello, it is so nice to meet
you again. It is a pleasant day. What is your name? I have forgotten….” And you can make up
stories about how nice it was where you went and how you made thousands of
friends…my head makes good medicine...It smiles that you are on creepy airplane
coming home…

Letters to first grade teachers:

Hello, you are probably old and don’t remember teaching me
the alphabet. You are the first person I
called, “Mother” who wasn’t my mother. I
accidentally called you “Mother” one day when we were gluing construction paper
shapes on top of one another. No one
except you noticed. I still started
crying. You took me in the corner and
wiped away me tears and licked your fingers. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. It doesn’t seem that wrong to me now…

Ode to my toothbrush

I keep you in my back pocket most of the day. When I’m nervous I put you in my mouth and
chew on the plastic and the bristles. I’m
not better than a little cookie that ran away from home and ate the treasure
map of a mediocre pirate and then got eaten by the mediocre pirate’s bald parrot…

The end

I have yet to read this
is stupid, i love you. You can order
it here. I will have a full review when
I get my copy.
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