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Well, here's the thing: He broke my heart, the bastard. Once upon Three Septembers and a January, in a time long gone, Neil and I were close. Very close. He was a pale beautiful angel in leather, dispensing the sweetest bits of Knowledge and Truth to me and me alone. Yes, you see, 'Sandman' was written just for me. My monthly letter from Neil. A balm to soothe the stings of peer rejection and acne. Only I knew what he was really saying. Only I could decode the delicate dance of hidden prose-within-prose.
But he changed.
He left COMICS and started writing NOVELS. And it was the same as 'Sandman', but not. Something changed. I realized halfway through 'Neverwhere' that he'd found someone new. Someone else to please and whisper to. Someone else to enchant.
And I was alone.
So I hate him. And I love him. And one day I will meet him, get him to sign my 1st printing of 'Angels & Visitations' (carried with me at ALL TIMES in anticipation of the inevitable) and say to him "Thank you very much, Neil. Why oh why did we ever part?" Then I will place the rag with chloroform (also carried at all times) over his face and hold it there until he stops moving. Then I will take him home. To the pit. And my hunting knives. And the stash of PCP. |
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