The Woeful Writing{s} of Wednesday.
Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc.
Typewriter.
A new ink ribbon.
Paper.
Gramophone playing my favorite record.
click. clack. snick. snack.
Greetings and salutations everyone, it has been a while since my latest chapter, but I most certainly have not been idle…existing in this never-ending hellscape requires me to be at quippiest capacity. Apparently, I have achieved the highest numerical eyes on my life’s story and its many cataclysms against some intriguing manifestation entitled Stranger Things. I’m glad that Thing is exploring his own creative talents when he isn’t lending his own tactile prowess to mine.
Sadly, the adaptation of my character and the many persons that dwell therein leave much to be desired. I witnessed scenes most disturbing and not of my own making. Foisting me into boy love triangles with meandering subplots, disavowing me of my queerness when my chemistry with dearest Enid was most intriguing, and most infuriating of all the coyness and cruelty against the Black individuals of this alternate universe.
I was most aghast. Why were they cast as cops and colonizers when history bares fruit to the opposite? Our races and ethnicities most certainly differ but our experiences with…
