Recently, I’ve started recognizing my taste in perverse literature. Well, in reality, I just naturally have an interest in everything that is remotely perverse. Whenever I find the opportunity to drop a swear word or say something sexual, I usually capitalize on my urge and scream my thought process, uncensored, uncut, and free from constraint. Why is this? I’d like to think it’s because I am one of the few elite who can get away with being perverse. But, who doesn’t think that, outside of the deep south whom just speak for the sole purpose of sounding ignorant? Instead, I just came to the conclusion that life is way more interesting when it’s full of perverseness. As a result, Edgar Allen Poe becomes an incredibly interesting piece of work. What a hot mess. Never boring, Poe thrives in perverseness. He IS perverse. So, I’ve decided to use this blog post to write a love letter confessing my love for his work. Here it goes:

Dearest Edgar Allen Poe,

I’m not sure why you chose to get drunk and drown yourself in a gutter, but I think that we can all agree, you left this Earth in a similar fashion that you dominated it with. You reunited with your beloved in a perverse fashion. Well, if you had a beloved. I feel like you didn’t. But, who’s to say?

You died perversely. You married perversely. You wrote perversely. Your work was perverse. Everything about you is a manifestation of perverse.

You are one crazy cookie. But, let’s face it, you had to be. Someone that could write about a monkey committing murder, a man yelling at a bird, a teenager sitting on top of a dead body with a few police officers, or a stalker following a homeless guy through a crowd had to be just a little left of normal. I mean, you don’t see Palin writing about the complexities of her incestuous relationships. That’s because she’s normal, and boring, and a little dumb to recognize what she’s doing most of the time.

You know the way to my heart, Mr. Poe. Your dark stories make my already dark (overcast) day even darker. You have no glimpse of optimism in near sight. You see the glass half-empty. You don’t disguise your pessimism by stating you’re a realist. You are proud to announce your negativity in the world. Maybe that’s why Europe loved you so much and America considered you one of the worst writers during your time period.

You’ll always have a special place in my heart because YOU are the epitome of perverseness. You are endlessly entertaining to learn about, to read, and to quote.

With Love,

An admirer from afar (because I’m still alive and you are not)