Love letters of the post modern age

Red rain boots, Coffee and Thievery Corporation. Parov Stelar, Tom Waits and The Dress, any dress that shalt no alter a body's fine shape. No sugar = hapiness. Milan Kundera and every goldfish. Morning glories in my orange draped bed. Late March raining over cities. The Central Park bridge, 11 am sipping large black coffee, dead leaves under my soles, empty seats and stunner heels. My cigarette crash will make my face look older year after year and my red lips bloom one day after another. I make late phone calls to lovers I've heartsnatched for ages.

Handwriting is sexy. So send me your love letters, wrriten by hand, typed by machine, it will not matter for I will publish every each of them. And we'll make "bestselling" just a word, we'll be read and we'll be the greatest writers we've ever seen. Inspiration, you hear me, art is NOT for the masses.

Ask me anything: http://www.formspring.me/waitmachine