Krista Allen

Dear Krista,

Well, I must admit that I've never heard of you before, partially due to my complete distaste for every ounce of the entertainment industry and partially due to the fact that you aren't mass marketed, packaged and shove down my throat like so many others out there. I must say that you are a beautiful woman, nothing you haven't heard before, but I am not writing to dote, ogle or aggrandize (despite the fact that these words don't really work in this sentence I figured I'd use them for, let's say, the hell of it) you. I am simply here to write you. No Krista, I don't want to write on, with, or about, I just want to write you. The subject of this particular letter is a subject that I strive to perfect. It is the subject of nothing. I am simply writing you, about nothing, on nothing and for no reason at all.

My entire day has been spent pontificating, to various homosapiens, via mixed mediums, simply one subject; you guessed it, nothing. Now, I don't know what you do all day long, but I think it can be neither as exhausting nor as fruitful as my daily routine. I like to slip in and out of reality as an exercise of control. Most people will think that I am a crazy man, speaking crazy talk, in a crazy tongue. I say, "NAY!" This, simply, is an exercise in keeping my grip on reality, for slaving my life away in the corporate landfill has but one reward at the end of the day, the mighty cashola. Krista, I ask you where is the fulfillment? Where are the dreams that come true? Are they only for the beautiful? Are they only for the lucky? Questions a plenty, I know. I don't expect you to answer, frankly I don't expect you to even read this cornucopia of verbalization. I simply want to kill the last half-hour of my day on a Friday.

As we look back over the past few paragraphs there can be only one thought that crosses your mind, "What in the Sam hill is this freak talking about?" I would like to reiterate that I am talking about nothing. I know I've said it before, but sometimes it takes a few times hearing it before it really sinks in. I stated my goal and I hope that I have pulled it off with grace, zest, zeal, passion, and deftness. I hope not to make you say, "I have to get my address off the internet," and I hope to make you say, "What? No really what are you talking about and what did I do so wrong in my life to have this 'verbage' (verbal-garbage) spewed in my direction. I didn't think a letter could actually transmit stink, but I now think I smell worse for reading it. Not only am I dumber for having read this, not only have I wasted the last 7 minutes and thirty four seconds of my life, but I think I am falling for this twisted word smith." Or something like that.

So with my day fading like an ego in time, I am off. Off to party hardy in the city that never sleeps. The city of lights so bright, buildings so big and people so small. Take comfort in the fact that you were once an outlet for me, a distraction from the chaotic world of keyboards, swivel chairs and office memoranda. A distraction from the world that I long to escape, but cannot find the escape hatch. With that being said, I would like to give thanks for 5:30. I would like to give thanks for weekends. I would like to give thanks for my friends and I, especially, would like to give thanks for you Krista, because you cannot understand what this letter means to me.

Sort of Sincerely,

Orpheous Roy

http://www.krista-allen.com