Sat, 02 Jun 2001
Dear Mister Wonderful,
I love you for using the name 'Thermopylae.' What a battle.
And speaking of loving you, I've been meaning to send you this query. About a month ago in the Philippines I had a dream that you and I met, fell in love forthwith, and then you got a terminal illness.
What do you make of that?
Dear Greek Freak,
I think they gotta stop serving those deceptively tasty Mai Tai's at the Manilla Hilton.
Well, as long as that poster of me from the 1957 tour is still framed above the bar, that is. I get into more dreams that way...
You may be surprised to learn that Mister Wonderful is not allergic to love, nor does the thought of commitment cause him to break out in hives. Minor panic attacks, nothing more. Your dream image of me contracting a terminal illness just to get out of a relationship is sheer fancy. I haven't tried that since 1982, when Annie Lennox wouldn't stop calling.
As far as interpreting your dream, it is obvious that you are a fictional character, probably created by Philip K. Dick. You escaped from a short story collection in the Kansas City Public Library and took to the streets with no memory of your origin. You survived the first few months by sucking the ink out of discarded newspapers and telephone books. Eventually you made a semblance of a human life for yourself, never realizing what you truly were. You find yourself strangely attracted to me, but is that because I kill your kind, or because I am just like you?