Has Science Man Found Science Woman?

Greetings, Readers!

It has been an eventful few months for our poet laureate, Science Man. First, in a fit of melancholy, he left Berlin, renouncing the life of letters. Shortly thereafter, he survived an attempt on his life, and then spent several weeks evading his would-be assasins. Most recently, a spat with a former gigolo led to his expulsion from an elite equestrian academy. But perhaps things have begun to turn around for our friend. He writes below, detailing his newfound hope for happiness (as well as providing an explanation for the curious results to our first poll).


Dear Damon,

I have calmed somewhat since I last wrote you. I did spend several days searching for my would-be assassins, my frustration growing with my lack of success. On the fourth day, however, I had an epiphany. Believe it or not, it was as I was browsing the archives of your blog. I read once more the post about your friend Shiri, and suddenly it struck me: I am in love. (I proceeded to vote for her fourteen times in the Mooncalf poll.) Please, Damon, do me a favor and publish my letter to her.

Your friend,
Science Man

[Play music now]

Dear Shiri,

You may not know me. You may never have encountered my poetry, my scholarship, nor my dog, Raw. But I think you could love me. And I know I love you.


Raw

Please, let down your guard, love. Let me be your guard, love. (Let me guard you with my love.) Let me be your mirror; see your beauty reflected in my love of your beauty, love. Are you getting dizzy? I know I am. I want to touch you.


That's actually John Bolton, not me. But people say we look pretty alike.

Love,
Science Man








I see her face and I can’t let go...

If my friend Hammer told you
(you’re so bold and cold; you
had me sold at hello)
how I feel.

Would you smile? Be surprised?
Would you narrow your eyes?
"All these guys,"
(Here she sighs)
"What’s the deal?"

Oh, my Dear Shiri,
Please, my love, hear me,
Hear Hammer’s sweet query...
I’ve seen her, I said.

Could I be any clearer?
She’s the girl in the mirror,
or the passing car’s window
as traffic stops dead.

She'll be mine, she'll be fly, and it'll last


Let's not mask our feelings, Shiri. This is love.