Dr. Poltergeist

 

Don't get me wrong, I really admired Dr. Poltergeist. 

Call it unrequited love.

When he blocked me from ever talking to him again, I felt fooled. 

He didn't mind written communication.

'He can't write to save his life and I can manipulate him even more,' said Dr. Poltergeist, who was always chasing the dragon. 

'Shazam,' he'd say as he lit up the little pink pill.

'Fucking double Shazam,' he'd say as he smoked another quarter. 

Only when he was high would he communicate with his clients.

He had fucked over some other prominent writers in Bangkok.

'Oh, Mr. Spell Checker,' said Dr. Weird, a prolific writer who tighroped between noir and surrealism. 

Mr. Spell Checker. 

The best spell checker in South East Asia, a Nation reviewer once wrote. 

'He hasn't apparently read my Avante guard novel, then,' said Jodric who requested I put a blurb here about his dead beat novel. So here you go: 

Professor Poltergeist had sighed and resigned himself to problems yet to come. Now, waist-deep in Soi Nana, reading the cards, he was unsurprised to find The Moon ascendant. -- John Gartland, Resurrection Room: Bangkok: dark rhetoric.