From The Basement III

Going through the box of old letters and shit in the basement has been very pleasant.  Sifting through the papers and mementos, I take pause over how many of the creators have now died.  They no longer exist.  At least, in this plane of existence.  DEAD.

The letters and other objects are relics.  Artifacts.  I feel by posting them here, by dusting them off and presenting them on the internets, I have, to a degree, resurrected the creators.  I have power over life and death.  I resurrect some, like the author of the above email, to life, and others, like the pathetic New York publisher mentioned in the first entry of this series, I resurrect to damnation.  To a degree, of course.  You understand that.

These dead are thought of, and will be thought of, whenever somebody will stumble across this internets page.  Even after I myself am dead, these resurrections will live on, for as long as this internet host lives.

Through these relics the dead will enter the consciousness of the living, and be, temporarily, psychically revived.  The dead will speak.

The creator of the relic above passed judgment more than twenty-five years ago, and this judgment will continue to ring for as long as this internet will last. 

This is my gift to the dead.