Would Unloosen Awareness Month be complete without a few words from esteemed writer extrordinaire and malcontent Stuart Gimble? He doesn't think so and to prove it, Mr. Gimble's emerged from retirement to entertain and enlighten us on this, Awareness Month's Stuart Gimble Day.
'Twas a dewy Sunday morning, nary 'fore dawn broke, that a rapping at my door I did hear. The racket stirred me and lifted me from my favorite reading chair, Good Brown Donald IV. Something compelling lived in that knocking sound, an urgency and anxiety that begged, "Answer me, dear Gimble, for behind your door rests matters of extreme import." My mind, still foggy from a sumptuous slumber, wondered if it was in fact the fair maiden, the flower of the library world, my lover Helen. Nay, it could not be for she lay resting in my chamber. Yes, Gimble does keep his mistress about the house, and a pleasant house guest she is.
I approached the door wondering all the while who this knocking belonged to, what specter or soul was its very source, and what burned the fire of this rousing sound within the man's belly? My hand held handle, unlatched the portal, and with courage and gusto I threw it open to face the world outside and the man who called on me.
The crisp morning air breathed on my face and before me stood a stoic gentleman wearing a freshly-starched uniform. In his solid hand, he held only one leaf of white paper. Offering me the sheet, a solitary word did slip through his thin lips: "Telegram."
I snatched from his dutiful mandibles the document. "Confound it!" I thought, "In this modern world of electronic-mail messages and facsimiles sailing through the ether to pummel the feeble minds of the masses, some fellow has taken the time to send his words to old Gimble via a fastidious courier." For certain, the scribe at the other end of this transmission knew the true Stuart Gimble.
I lifted my spectacles from my antique rococo end table and, bringing them before mine eyes I studied the fresh delivery. It read as such:
Dear Stuart,We here at Unloosen are instituting what we're calling, "Unloosen Awareness Month" in the hopes that we'll be able to make more of the world aware of your work and the other, lesser offerings of writers and photographers who call our site their creative home. In fact, we're even giving you a special day -- October 26th -- in order to thank you for all you've done for us over the years. We hope for your participation. Your fans miss you.
Sincerely,
The Staff of Unloosen.com, a place on the Internet.
My lovely Helen pleaded for me never to put pen to paper for Unloosen again. Wisdom sits with you eternally, dear Helen, for I do and always will agree that buffoons who assemble the drivel found in this Internet journal appreciate not what Stuart Gimble's capable mind has to offer. But, I ask you dear Helen, what of the fans? Alas, the fans deserve my words, even if they are to represent the only water droplets of truth and light that exist in this dark sea called Unloosen.
So fair Helen, forgive me, but I must speak forth for the sanctity of my fans. While they await restlessly my next words, they subject themselves to the literary sewage that comprises the balance of Unloosen. And having been steeped in the so-called awareness being broadcast during this month of October, I must sweep in to rescue their befuddled minds. Just as Stuance once delivered them to new heights, today these unnerved souls will be filled not with awareness, but with the fantastic literary energy known as STUwareness.
What is it to be STUware, you ask? STUwareness deals not with ephemeral nonsense or a parade of japes. Instead, to be STUware is to truly know the goodness of a crumpet, the elegance of an aria, the up-lifting power of Shakespeare. A STUware individual shuns all but the classics, and in the case of this very website, that means focusing only on the words of one Stuart Gimble, master of letters, wizard of words, knight of literary knowledge.
The bondage of my retirement is broken, let the words spill forth like so many deluges and tidal waves. In the coming weeks and months, prepare to soak yourselves in the flood of Gimble.
Bravo, Gimble! This triumphant return of The Lord of Literature has slaked my thirsty soul most thoroughly indeed. I was lost without your prose, confused in a dimension lacking Stuance and my fleeting desire to create was reaching its own torrid event horizon, so to speak.
I'm not sure if I have a problem with this Helen woman or not, but at least you have made the promise to write, and you are a man of your word. I'm not saying that you're whipped, but it sure seems that way. But we have yet to meet, or see a pic of Helen, so maybe she isn't real. You are a true Field General of Fiction, so this may be another one of your tricks. I'm just saying, you know?
Stu's queer.
Dear ForumBoy,
What agent pays you to sling his libelous words? The gossip mongers? The jealous scribblers of lesser works? Or was it cowardice himself who momentarily scurried into your insecure head in order to convince you to pen this two-word attack on my character? Needless to say, Stuart Gimble has his suspicions.
I assume, ForumBoy, that by labeling me "queer," you're insinuating that I'm a deviant, a homosexual. I need not defend my masculinity as it is proven in my every word and action, but I shall deliver you a warning: Gimble minces all assailants in written wars. In fact, my sharpened "words" become "swords," and if caution fails you, scallawag, I shall pierce your heart with a keen rapier of wit and verbiage. Consider yourself warned, naif.
Regards,
Stuart Gimble
Only queers use scallawag.
ForumBoy: Your derisive comments serve only as a reflection on you, young man. I suggest you stop picking on my poor Stuart and start doing something constructive with your time. Hours spent reading might enrich you a bit. Remember, books make you nice.