Tendered
As usual, I headed down to the secure Datekit PO box this morning. I was prepared for the tall task of editing and translating the Special Friday Treat from its native form—poorly spelled, typewritten (SFT uses a 1970s-era Valentine) ejaculations on smeared sheets torn from old composition notebooks—into standards compliant HTML. Sadly I found this.
Though we have our doubts about the authenticity of this document, so carefully edited and with uncharacteristic invectives, we will accept the resignation of Yr. Fancy as Datekit’s SFT unless or until we hear otherwise.
A few personal notes on Yr. Fancy. In the early days of this publication we recieved a short note from a man who claimed to have been rendered homeless by financial circumstances stemming from a mixture of bad investments and an insatiable appetite for aged cheeses, cured olives and boutique shaving products. Still, we saw in those first words a glimmer of the brilliant analytical mind that produced the now legendary attraction matrix, and the sentimental spirit of a teenage archivist, that birthed this paean to unrequited love. Sadly the original letter was lost in a server-closet fire two weeks ago, but I’ve committed the final words to memory:
There is no language in our lungs to tell the world what’s in our hearts. No we’re leaving nothing behind, just chiselled stones, no chance to speak before we’re bones.
