[Dear_Trent_#_41]

Dear Trent,

I'm flying in the face of Gabriel's bullshit embargo, because, apparently, I am the Paris Hilton of the NINternet, and moreover, this is my website and if I want to send a missive of LOVE to you, dear Sparklepants, my veritable raison d'etre, I fucking well will. I feel like it's time I told you that I love you with the same pure fire, the same undying and eternal flame with which I have loved you since forever.

Dearest Trent! Nothing has changed. My love is true.

I know that with the whole Avril thing that's going on here, the embargo, and all the total bullshit that never seems to stop being manufactured around this website, coupled with our relative silence lately on the topic of your every move and breath -- or even your latest recording -- that maybe I don't love you like I used to. It might seem like that, but, in point of fact, that is absolutely false.

Here's what's true, baby: I haven't been that big into the whole ARG thing. I know, KILL ME! But, I've never been much of a video game/sci-fi fan. I'm a snob, quite frankly, and speaking as a girl who, at one time, read literary theory for a hobby, I have to tell you that it is my somewhat professional opinion that there are, relatively speaking, only but a very few examples of that genre that are worth more than the paper they are printed on, and the narrative contents of this particular example of it have only resisted that generality insofar as they are not actually printed on paper... but that's neither here nor there, in the end.

My sweet love, I know you're all about looking forward into the future of your work, but I'm not sure you've brought your vision to it's full flower in this episode. The truth is it's left me with not so much to say, really. I like your record, of course, because it's yours, and I like you. I mean, I really like you. I like what you are in your bones, and I like what it means that you do it. I like everything about the unfolding process that is your pilgrimage in the land of your work, and when you send us your postcards from that land, I recieve them eagerly, and gobble them hungrily. They have never disappointed me, and nothing about them -- nothing whatsoever -- disappoints me now, because more than anything, it's the process that thrills me.

I am patient, dear Trent, and I await the next communique from your empire as eagerly as ever before. Journey on, my darling, I will always be here, my romantic heart throbbing your sweet name with such ceaseless insistence that it will be as if Avril Levigne and Gabriel Miller NEVER EXISTED.

Love,
Dierdre