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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