It is official! I have a “date” with the X-man on Saturday, well, soon as I reply. After a few more rounds of Olympic email ping-pong, Mr X has finally bitten the bullet and asked me out. Hooray!? The past few emails were spent discussing writing, whereby he mentioned his passion for poetry, especially of the visual variety. Visual poetry sounds like the modest term for a gyrating gigolo, but he has assured me he is not one of these incredible fellows! Shame really.
If you remember from the first article, Mr X proposed to write something, which turned out to be nothing more than a dull questionnaire. Well, he has written another piece (of this visual poetry). Aesthetically resembling a poem my laptop has regurgitated, after attempting to shove a box of Crayola crayons into the CD-Rom drive.
Dollar $igns for the letter S, OdDly plAceD upPeR aNd LowEr CasE LetteRs (reminding me of a 14 year olds myspace profile), random green words, strikethroughs, underlining of certain letters, b(rack)ets, *asterisks* and more pink lettering. All incorporated into a poem called: Is my point crystal clear to ($)ee? The pink letters vertically scattered spell ‘for you natasha’ and below the poem is a mobile number. Presumably his own, and not the gyrating gigolo! Again, shame.
The email asks if I am doing anything on Saturday and if I care to ‘break a world record with him?’ This is completely verbatim and quite a bold statement to make. I am honestly very interested by this comment, without a doubt making me more the fucking fool.
Should I fear for my life? Or figure out what shoes to wear? I think I'm going to text tomorrow. At midnight. To officially mark the beginning of my Cyber-rella fantasy.
Natasha x
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