Bouncing around the old blog-o-sphere, jauntily jotting notes on post after post, hop-skip-and-a-jumping across so very many virtual rope-bridges loosely linking each islet to the next to the next that eventually whose little island I was on and about which post I was to muse I knew not, and neither at that dizzied extremity did I know that the vile viridian monster was about to rear its head. Jealousy! You see, what I saw (when once I had got my eyes to stop spinning spirals in their sockets) was something happening for a stranger the which I very much wanted to come to pass for myself. An interview! The now-deep, now-glib, long-rambling Q&A between she the striving writer and he the quick-wit press rep had me envying the rapport, the repartee of their exchange, a covetousness which grew and grew until I heard the green goon within me say, “It should be you he’s interviewing!” and before I knew what I was doing, I’d cut and pasted and pasted and cut and was fiercely, fiendishly entering my own inane gab into newmade blanks following all the interviewer’s quips. Aye, I nabbed his questions for myself and fled, absconding with my ill-gotten, facsimile back-and-forth across the long sequence of swaying, swinging bridges until at last I alit on the isle which I call home. I had pulled off my mischievous Halloween trick!
Hastily I clicked
The pale blue publish button
Lest conscience catch up
[This haibun, if you’ll believe, dear reader, is the veracious tale of how I snatched Tony Lovell’s interview out from under Yeshasvi Mahadev on All Hallows’ Eve, 2016. Bridging post across to dVerse, Haiku Horizons, & Sunday Photo Fiction.]