Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Bored Olives

True love story in real letters e-mails.
Whatever you want to call it.
Just read it.
Bored Olives
Here's an excerpt. One of my favorite e-mails.

First you take your time machine.

Then you go back to the 1950s where you meet William Wyler on the set of the film Roman Holiday.

Then you convince him to stop doing so many takes and change the ending so Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn actually get together this time.

Then you travel back to your own time you discover that Hepburn and Pack are still together but their romance has died.

Damn you world.

But that’s not the worst of it.

Because of you meddled of the space and time continuum - there is now a sequel to Roman Holiday called Washington Workday.

Here, Hepburn abdicated – and married Peck. She moved to America – to Washington and lived in the suburbs. She becomes a good cook but gets lonely because he’s always working and going on interesting international assignments.

One day she starts taking pills and soon she’s addicted to some kinda of anti depressant – and before too long – while he’s away on a trip (ironically in Rome) she ends up dying from some simple but cruel head-hitting fall on the back stoop.

Bad time machine.

So you try again; perhaps as a form of punishment.

This time you use the time machine to look to the future. You set the dials fifty years ahead and arrive at the point of your own death.

You deeply want it to be grand and meaningful – heroic even. But it isn’t. You’re in a hospital bed. It’s not even raining. Two people are by your side. One of them is a nurse. And you just stop.

Bad, bad time machine.

With this knowledge in mind - you go back to where you began – trying to either spend the rest of your life not getting that disease or waiting for the moment of nothingness – always one step ahead.

So it’s a no-win situation.

So you destroy the time machine and berate yourself for using this astonishing piece of technology for rather mundane and pointless reasons.

And from this point on you realise that it’s also pointless looking back and probably pointless looking forward, hey?

So I agree. Let’s fuck the past. Let’s fuck the present and just focus on the now.

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