Roderick Conwi;9:18pm

this will probably be an incredible piece of shit talking writing, one that occassionally, as the words trickle out of me, will hump the edges of the Undeniable. so scorchy and evil in it’s intent and content yet unbearably well written that all readers, young and old, tourists and literati alike will wince in discomfort whilst saying, ‘god damn! that’s some fucked up shit! but he writes so fucking well i cant’ stop reading!” this will probably make your pilipino ass cry from beginning to end because it’s so accurately true and honest that you, mr. roderick conwi will have to admit that what names i call you and metaphors i use are spot on. and you will have to, and i mean you won’t be able to help it, you will be universally forced to write me back, apologetically, confessing your sins to me. and you will post it on the writers workshop site for all to bear witness to my perfection.

just kidding. you’re alright kid.

but i do gotta say, i didn’t like you much when i first met your ass. you had this weasel-like grin that made me feel uncomfortable. like you were going to steal my wallet and use my ID to get into a vegas strip club and go balls to the wall knowing that edren t. sumagaysay would be the one to go to jail. what a bastard, i thought. how could he do that? he barely knows me? and yup. in order to protect myself i created this character of you without having shared a single sentence with you. you bastard.

but hey, ya know, you turned out alright kid. and who knew? you liked to write? i didn’t. to me, you were this motherfucker hanger-on mouse motherfucker, chasing gold crumbs that geniuses dropped so that you would be labeled as such because of supplemental diet. but i was wrong. i was dead gone long duck dong wrong. which is what i look for in life. i love it when i’m wrong!

now, kiddo, what proved me wrong was that you knew i didn’t like you. that i was giving you the old evil eye, like i was an old lady with a black veil from some european old country who knew a little bit about gypsy curses. like at the first chance i got i would kill you. that i would cackle like a thousand banshees at your slow, torturous demise. that i would cook your still beating heart and use it for late night soup. and even with that knowledge, of my immense magickal powers, you still said, “hi, edren! how’s it going?” consistently. for years. at everything i saw you at. and you were genuine.

so last year you caught me off guard. “hey, edren! how’s it going?” i replied. “it’s cool, roderick. how are you?” damn it! you bastard! you caught me in a nice moment! you tricked me into being cordial! what a dick! you bastard!

and from then on, we were cool.

i found out you liked to write. and our conversations elongated. i found out you were pilipino. i always thought you were chinese or some shit. and our conversations stretched even longer. i found out you were a cool dude. and then we became friends.

i like your steel-o kiddo. you got balls. you got imagination. you got spunk. you got spirit. feels like i’m about to do some sort of cheerleader routine, which isn’t that far from the truth. i kind of am.

i was wrong about you, roderick. you’re not chinese. and you are a cool dude. you got a big heart and you genuinely love Art with a big letter ‘A’. which is the child of the Undeniable. and your pursuit of such elusive beasts is something to be admired.

get your book together. bring the strings together, tighter. chase Undeniable even more and log every hour you can. because your heart is the thing that will elevate your writing. you got stories to share. now do them justice and put that shit down for people to access it.

call me up, motherfucker. let’s get coffee again.