Received my first death threat email last night along with two of my pieces flagged for deletion.
For those who need an end to my project, you only have 34 more days! You don't need to off me!
To help me regain perspective, I would like to share some of the kind, friendly notes some of you have sent me. I may not get to answer all of them, because of the daily nature of the project, I contact first the Charlottesville people who express specific plans or fantasies, show themselves to be interesting as well as interested, and send me face pictures instead of typical headless in the first ad response. But, I do appreciate that all of you took time to respond.
“Intriguing story, definitely drew my attention.” NS
“Hi! I though your cl post was very intriguing. You had me at Arnold Palmer's” VL
“Hi I am really intrigued by these meetings.” EW
“Hello there! First, I'd just like to say that your ad is a breath of fresh air on Craigslist. 98% of the casual encounters W4M ads on here are laughably fake, you at least seem real.” BH
“All of your posts have been making me extremely horny. “ TR
“Hey There, You certainly have a unique CL posting. I would love to know more about your writing project and how you handle, what I imaging are, horrible responses.” PO
“That was totally hot!!! Love it:)” Anonymous
“It seems as if I elected to move from Charlottesville many years too soon. Who knew that such a naughty, intelligent being would be there later? One that could satisfy me both mentally and physically. “ AB
“In the early morning light,
I dreamed of you...
Kissing your lips,
My fingers running thru your hair...
In the pale moonlight,
You were standing
By the great Oak tree,
Calling my name...
Come to thee
Whispers on the winds of time,
Turning, rolling in my mind
Fire burning
Brightly in my heart
Reaching across time
Feeling your body
Next to mine...
Kissing and caressing,
Rolling thru time
Dreaming in the...
Pale Morning Light”
Anonymous
“ I have thoroughly enjoyed reading your posts. I bet you are a lot of fun!” DF
“I liked your craigs postings, especially the library one. Pretty hot, and daring. I am not a big Chaucer guy, or at least not yet :) Maybe you can turn me on to him? I'm more of a Cheever type. But I also have a strong background in Chinese poetry and early to mid 20th century American poetry. Regardless, here's mine. Would love to meet a woman intriguing enough to write such unique posts to craigs.
Forgiveness
The summer before fifth grade
we went to my uncle’s rectory
down the Cape for a week.
Monsignor Flaherty staked
tomatoes out by the garage
in a white t-shirt, cigarette
dangling from his pockmarked face.
My uncle said the bishop sent
him, thought the salt air
might keep him sober.
Besides, they needed someone
to say the early Mass in Latin
and absolve sins in Portuguese,
even if all in a brogue.
Flaherty owned two shaggy mutts,
Michael and Margaret, one brown,
the other black, one named after
a superior, the other the woman
who drove him into the priesthood.
The two people I like least in this world
he told us after supper one night.
I began to ask why he would name them
that way, but my mother cut me off
All right, off to bed now. Later I heard
her tell my father behind their closed door,
I don’t want him around that drunk.
He was sitting at the kitchen table reading
the Herald’s obituaries when I came down
early the next morning. The dogs licked
sand out of their paws from their walk.
I asked him about the names in a low voice.
He smiled, kept his eyes on the paper.
Because it seems to free my soul
of the animosity it holds against
those poor people when I say
Heel, Maggie! Sit, Michael!”
S
“Hello. Today's post was the second one of your writings that I was fortunate enough to come across. Your style of writing is both intriguing and arousing. I extend a thank you for you choosing to share this project with us.” MR
“Wanted to let you know that I have been reading more of your ads/mini blogs on craigslist and I find them fascinating. I love the choice of language and tone.” WM
“Untitled
Somewhere between nothing done and my own damn fault
you find the words, buried in time, the time wasted long before
looking for a space to bury the words you've lost.
somewhere between the entrenched decision
and the long discarded task, where words alone,
buried in time, attest to times buried
in the space acquired, through constant
consistent begging, through profit, loss of an instant
carried through time, time and the words whose content timed
the con substantial being of such words: "What am I saying":
"What have I done": You know the answer at least
to one of those two questions, the irredeemable loss
of time's last word. You know for a moment
the spade digging through dirt, where memories dug
from somewhere dig back, and force dirt from the mind,
if buried too long in frozen moment, another question can surface
"How long has this task been about": Or rather "When did it start
and, "Where will it end?"
WD
“Hi, I've greatly enjoyed reading your adventures. Thank you for sharing. - A Fan “ AG
“I saw your ad and few days ago but did not respond. Because of the post being up again, I do not doubt your "realness".I find your project interesting. And ad that length I normally would not read because I'd become bored lol. However I did read yours and did not lose my intrigue.” B
“That is so weird. (Hot, but weird). You honestly sound so sexy. Wow “ MS
“This ad interests me, seems like fun but don't know what to expect.” DM
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