28495754I love this book. Written by the handsome E.I. Wong (his words), the hopefully formerly depressed human of A Narcissist Writes Letters to Himself fame*, Poet Robot is made of exactly the kind of twisted humour I wasn’t sure other people had. It’s about the hilarious cruelty of life, the truth that we are nothing more than monkeys in shoes. The fact that most of us, in those dark corners of our minds that we don’t ever dare show anyone else, all want to kill some of the other people**. It’s human darkness warped into comedy. It also contains the world’s best lesson on the dire consequences of misplaced commas.
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It’s cold outside. The lights and glitter are gone. The novelty of my new socks has worn off. It’s January.

This is my apology for a lack of posting recently. You know how it is. You’re too busy preparing for Christmas one minute, drunk and full of cheese for about a week after the big day and then hungover and bloated for the first week of January. So here’s my New Year’s Resolution:

I promise I’ll get back to work soon!

As a gesture of good faith, I have taken most of the junk off my desk, turned on my computer, wrote seven words of my novel and posted this, so I’m making an effort. I’m just not sure I’m ready to commit to a full day’s writing. Perhaps tomorrow…