Philip K. Dick, �A Scanner Darkly�
Dear God,
You and I haven�t spoken much. In fact, I don�t even know what I should call you � Heavenly Father? Yahweh? Cuthulu? Mike Patton?
I know you�re busy, getting back to your roots as vengeful God and all, and that�s why I leave you to your own devices. It seems to work pretty well that way � you do your thing, and I do mine. I�ve never asked you for anything, and I�ve received just what I asked for, which is fine. I know I�m not easy to shop for.
But it seems that on occasion, you want to get involved in my life. I wish you wouldn�t. The only time I can recall you butting in was when I made that wish in England at those gates in the field. And even that, while a nice gesture, though not really aimed at you, turned out to be a monkey�s paw and everything went to hell in less than two months.
So a few weeks back, when I said that I had a new idea to have my books stolen so I wouldn�t have to read them, you decided to lend a hand again.
Listen God, I was kidding. I don�t like having my stuff stolen. And now that I�ve had two bags and four books lifted, I�m a little annoyed. You don�t understand sarcasm, maybe? I suppose that could be the case, but then what else could Presbyterians be?
If you really want to get involved and start granting wishes, how about this: I wanna be surrounded by bitches and money.
Oh that�s right, I am surrounded by bitches and money, it�s just that none of it is mine. Very funny.
And Christ (sorry, no offense), if you wanted to lighten my book reading load, couldn�t you have done it while I was reading, oh, I don�t know, this book instead of the hardback collection of Love and Rockets and the special anniversary collection of The Prisoner that I was looking forward to reading next?
Not that this was a bad book, since it was a mix of Burroughs and Selby set in the future with a lot of drug philosophizing, but I much would have rather been reading other things. But I guess you work in mysterious ways, right? What a cop out.
