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I love you by Dan Gleason author info You became my religion, and, in this way, I turned everything around me into something sacred. You will be the flower, I said, but what will I become? You are the best book- but can I not become, your page? I've read everything, I know every single theological sentence ever written back and forth, and, I'll tell you each and every one of them. I've also found that I am a shaman. Yes, and I'll change you into something even more beautiful, if it is possible. But what will you have of me? Tell me what I'll be. Let me stay by your side, please. Tell me your secrets, tell me who I am. I've seen the way you treat your dogs. They love you, and I love you. Am I your dog? Hmm, well, I must think not. Nod if I am your dog. I am not at all displeased with your lack of response- I know that this is the great quiet, the unending state of doubt that you have tried to teach humanity, and I, only I am willing to learn. I am going to do my masturbatory exercises in the bathroom. As you can see, I have put your largest photo in here. Do you like that? If you say no, I will move it- rest assured. Please, please leave me be, just for one moment. I can tell you are enjoying my collection of weaponry. Yes, they are pens, or, they were, any way- but now, with the thumb tacks in them, they are lethal! Strike down, yes, like this. But not at your lover- aim it away, yes, thank you. Tell me something, tell me about your favorite boyfriend. Describe his every movement to me- what made you so enraptured? I will become him- I can't be myself, I don't know me. But I'll become him, so you, you my love, can relive all that splendor. Can we make believe something right now? Can we make believe that I am a well polished towel, and your shoes, they need a good waxing. The idea of me riding on your shoes does not appeal to you, I can tell, so, I'll back away at once. Forgive me if I attempt to ply too many layers of my love on your person. My love is a flawed love, and, all that I ask of you, is, that you learn me your way.
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Dan Gleason, a Chicago writer, was born from the virgin womb of the Great Sheila, and raised by the pumpkin. But he was also raised by candy, and the loving, nurturing nature of the over-sized- New Orleans sewer rat. He's a drifter- they always, always blame it on the drifter. Often, you'll see him alone and crying in your local park. He's read a few times around town, and has a very short short story book with stories that are very short that is about to be released. To find out about future readings and releases, contact Dan at authors@fengi.com. All material copyright the authors, printed with permission.
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