Operation Enduring Digitarti
Today the insanely mad poet considers the worst possible outcome.
Alone, unsure of himself, and feeling a lot like Putin, the self-proclaimed Poet Laureate of North America weighs his options.
Entry 1417
He stares at the screen trying to observe any change that might indicate positive movement for Operation Enduring Digitarti, the red phone — the hot line — but inches from his fingertips, and he thinks, I could pick up that phone and all would be over in just a matter of minutes. One big bang and everything would be gone, no more than ashes and dust. I could end it all today, right now and everyone would read my name in the mushroom clouds as they rise into the skies turning day into night.
“Or, I could try and write another story,” he mumbled, “but what would the plot be?”
To be continued in Entry 1455 as soon as I quit feeling sorry for myself…