Page 132 of Nearly Roadkill
And I thought this was America.
Direct email campaigns are failing. People aren’t signing up for giveaways. They see that they don’t have complete access to the Net, but only to areas our demosurveys indicate they would enjoy.
The punters are demanding COMPLETE ACCESS. Have you any idea what a mess that would be? And why do you suppose they want complete access, when most of them can’t even use their microwaves correctly? Because Scratch and Winc have full access. And they’re using illegal bypasses, which your department cannot seem to stop!
Lastly: If Scratch and Winc are not behind bars in five days, we’re pulling all funding for the Internet.
Yours truly,
—Robert Blaine III, Esq.
Budge closes his eyes for a moment. They had a point. Hey, he shit-cans every ad that comes to him. Shelly does the same thing. But tossing ads away has nothing to do with Scratch and Winc—it’s common practice. Even before the Internet. So why are they hanging it on these two jokers?
Then it hits him. They’re trying to stick Scratch and Winc with their own fuck-ups. All that money—public funds, corporate grants—sunk into the Net as the ultimate advertising medium. And it flopped beyond belief. Scratch and Winc are taking the rap. So insisting on Registration is the desperate move to recover their losses. But even Registration isn’t going to last. People are smart.
END JABBA NARRATIVE ENTRY
To:Drew
From:T. Sparrow
Subject:Come down off that ledge
Yes, that is sad. Now you can’t even say a word near your phone without an ad popping up. We need smart people with good hearts now more than ever.
Love,
Dad
SCRATCH JOURNAL ENTRY
To:Winc
From:Scratch
Subj:Us, Midnight…
I’m a bear of little brain. I can’t remember what our particular isms or differences are, and I don’t care. I’m furious at this Budge character. I miss you fierce. I miss Toobe, I mean, the old way we used to write to him. So much to teach him, so much that he teaches us. Lately my letters to him have been whiney.
I feel such love for you, my friend, my lover, my fellow traveler. Your vulnerability is overwhelming sometimes, until I realize it is my own. There’s no support for outlaws, even among ourselves. Your path is so lone, as is mine, and we cannot help each other,any more than we do in comforting words. Nevertheless, we still return to relating, to the realizations, albeit alone.
As more people get online, I’m sad that when I try to connect to people as someone without a gender, or without a specific sexual preference, just me, gender-free and loving whoever comes along, I get blank faces. Tinged with fear and judgment.
It kills me how one choice instantly obliterates others. As a grown-up, when I must make choices, I watch possibilities slip away. My inevitable reaction is to turn inward, to write, to confide sometimes.
It’s all the same thing—the connectedness of spirit, a capacity we’re born with, and either spend our lives denying or searching out to the farthest corners.
I want that connection, to see and be seen, with someone. The point is, Winc, you do see. That’s worth everything to me. More than any of my ignorance or fear of change. I miss you. Have you had enough space now? Can we meet? Please.
Thanks for listening, my love. Goodnight.
—S.
To:Scratch
From:Winc
Subj:Was reading some Zen stuff, and my brain fried…
