Dear Karma,
You’s my Bitch. That’s right, I just called out Karma. Because I can do that. Here’s why.
Karma, you seem high and mighty from a distance, but what are you really? Was it you that sprained my ankle after helping a friend move, or was that the brick in the grass. Because it seemed a lot like a brick. Hidden. In the grass, where things that sprain your ankle belong. Unlike you Karma, whom I have brought to light. So maybe I fell because I was stoned, but that’s still not you, you’re not that fun.
In most of my encounters with you, you’re just another social platitude. Like Relationship Statuses and Race (both of which are on my list). So why don’t we stop saying Karma and start saying what we really mean.
I am not going to regret this.
Madly,
W.B.R.H.

Dear Future,
You poor charlatan, you knew this one was coming...  
If Time were a television show about coming of age high school students, you would be, the ‘bad boy’. You know, the mysterious one.  The one that everyone thinks they can change.  Those pawns think they can mold you to fit into their own little box.  One they can bring with them to parties and show off to their friends.  An illusion they can bring home with them.  “Hey Mom and Dad, look what I’m going to do!”  Something to darken their vision enough so they can all sleep at night.  
They don’t know you like I do.  I see you for what you are.  Alone.  I once saw you as an enemy, but now I have come to the doleful conclusion that you can never be with anyone.  
But it’s cool because I get to be the narrator that everyone relates to.  So thanks, Future. I’ll see you soon.
Listfully,
Wayne Benjamin Rush Hoagland

Dear Car Alarms,
Why do you have to be so annoying? I realize your purpose, and I appreciate you for that, but why can’t you be more melodic? When I hear that my car is being stolen, the last thing that I want to be reminded of is my own droning, monotonous, overwhelming existence. Trust me; I know how loud noises can be fun. And that one day in the back yard, we definitely had a connection… but I think we can both stand to make some changes… You jump, I jump, Car Alarms. If I can stop cursing at children, you can stop disturbing my naps.
Madly,
W.B.R.H.

Dear Censorship,
Back off! I’m an artist, so we are enemies. As an artist, I am creating a world where you are quarantined from everything scary, different, and unexpected.  A cold, sterile room, far away from the troubadours and balladeers of this crazy world, where you can be safe. You can still exist, but only as an example of something bad. But this begs the question, have you crept into this very note?? Am I Censoring Censorship??!! D*&% your inevitability! F&*% your necessity! O the Humanity!  
Curse this existence...Feelings, trust me... it's time.

W.B.R.H.

Dear Hyphen,
I'm tired of you. You're pretty unimportant in my book. I'm not even sure I know how to spell you. I am tired of having to pause and figure out where you need to be placed. I don't need you on my checks. If you can't understand the numbers, you don't need to be getting money. While i'm at it, f you unneeded spaces. We all know what i mean when i call you a motherfu(censorship, you’re next). Furthermore, may you be forewarned- i am not banning hyphens, and obviously not spaces, just the superfluous ones that piss me off.
Grammar... watch out.

Madly,
Wayne Benjamin Rush Hoagland

Dear Feelings,
You’re not like that T word that rhymes with slime that I banned last… note. You understand me. You’re on my side. I LOVE YOU! I know we can be together. There are a couple more things I need to ban first, but soon, there will be nothing between us. We’ll go everywhere together, as close as two can be. Feelings and me.

Madly,
Wayne

Dear Time,
Really? I mean, if you’re so pervasive, you should have been there in elementary school when they said no bullying. I’ll explain. At my own pace. First of all, I’m not even sure you exist. Ha! Take that! I can be done with you! In fact, I am done with you! You’ll see the rest of this story when I feel like writing it, Time!
Now I’m gonna be callin the shots. My playground now. It’s that easy folks. Time is now only allowed in countdowns. And that’s practically counting anyways, which I’ve always liked.

Madly,
Wayne Benjamin Rush Hoagland