Christopher Marlowe: Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium?
Me: No. I never launched any ships. It's me.
Christopher Marlowe: Why this is hell, nor am I out of it.
Me: Steady, Chris. I shoved my photo into my Profile to make my blog a bit more human, is all.
Christopher Marlowe: And what are you that live with Lucifer?
Me: I don't live with Lucifer. I live with Janet.
Christopher Marlowe: Then thou must be damned perpetually.
Me: Easy, Chris, she's not a bad woman at heart. Look, I know what's bugging you. You were expecting someone a lot younger. I'm sorry. The thing is, I have the mental age of an adolescent and it comes across in my writing.
Christopher Marlowe: Ah, Pythagoras' metempsychosis, were that true.
Me: It is true, dammit. Read the blog if you don't believe me. I've had hard life. Things never worked out the way I hoped they would. Never got the book published. Beating on, against the current...All that stuff. You can't hide failure. It's etched on my face. To say nothing of the laughter lines. But what can you do? What else is there?
Christopher Marlowe: As for myself, I walk abroad o' nights and kill sick people groaning under walls: sometimes I go about and poison wells.
Me: Fair enough. Each to his own I say. I'll stick to the blog for the time being if it's all the same to you.