Six Mays on the Underside of the World

No-cut-vember 22, 2010
Dear newcomer Paul,

My name is Drew, but I go by many other names. I have brown hair, but I’ve had many different colors. I’m ta wenty-one year old female, but I don’t always tell people I am. But enough about me. Word on the street is that you’re thinking about making a life altering decision! Radical! Those are obviously the best kind of decisions. I write to all newcomers, so I’m just going to copy and paste my default mantra below.

Fortunately and unfortunately the world we- or should I say you - live in is about as black and white as the words on this page and the tattoo on your back. It’ll squeeze you and choke you until all the color has drained out your eyes and through the tips of your fingers. It’ll constrict your individuality until you’re a face on a page, a figure on a profit margin, or a single grass stain that has yet to be Oxi-cleaned off your khakis. The world is not interested in us- excuse me again- the world is not interested in you.

What does the world want anyway? Well, how am I to know? To you, to your precious ‘world’ I don’t exist.

You see, people like me are like blips on a submarine’s radar, patrolling through your sea of conformity. And as history has taught us, it is a submarine’s job to eliminate every last blip until the sea is calm and compliant.

Obviously I can’t see you right now, but I’m a woman of wisdom and I assume you’re either cynical or very confused about the light I’ve just shed on your situation. Am I your wake-up call? That’s sweet. But I’m not here to save your life, I’m here to destroy it and build a new one from the Technicolor ashes. Still don’t believe me? Make a decision. I’m the Jesus Christ of this shit and I’m leading you to the gates of Heaven. Well, it’s not so much Heaven, more like the Underworld.

If you’re scared, you shouldn’t be. I was sixteen when I first came. When I say came, I mean thrown, hurled, chucked into this mess because the world refused to believe in me. The world isn’t the only one to blame though. Sure it stopped believing in me, but that was only after I stopped believing in it. I didn’t ask for this, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the whole world.

Look, I’m not doing this for my health; I’m doing it for yours. If you want to stay here it’s fine with me. Go dance a jig or collate market stock value or whatever the hell it is you do up here. As for me, I’ll be enjoying my life. I’ll be riding on a mother fucking backwards carousel and jumping off bridges into the harbor all night long. Or maybe I’ll see the greatest band alive in concert and finish the night off by shagging the drummer. Who knows? The world is my oyster! I can do anything, whilst you my friend are trapped inside the parameters of your desk job.

Well in case you do decide to join me, I’ll give you the lo-down on my world; The Underside of the World. So grab your jean jacket, ankle boots and unsigned bands cause honey we’re going down.

I’ve lead you here, but I can’t teach you everything. In fact, I can’t really teach you anything. The people here, we’re all different; different from normal people and different from each other. You can try to fit us all into one category, but you won’t. We’re all just Undersiders.

Perhaps the only lesson I can teach you is The Underside month system. We’ve created our own month system to best fit our interests, unlike yours which is made up of nonsense words. (Seriously, what is a September?) It still follows your twelve month scheme, but we’ve turned the names into somewhat childish parodies. The twelve months of The Underside and their meanings go as follows…

Meloduary (our version of your January) – Named because the music’s always cheap and loud.

Twigruary (our version of your February) – Named because Twiggy rules. Don’t even try to argue.

Yellparch (our version of your March) – Named because we all wear yellow nail polish during this month. Even guys. Sometimes.

Steampril (our version of your April) - You know how when it’s warm out, and it’s just rained and a thin layer of steam rises up from the pavement? Yeah. That’s what this month’s named for.

May (our version of your May) – May is already such a pretty name for a month. Why fix something that isn’t broken?

Spoon (our version of your June) – It’s warm out, and it gets the boys all fired up. Spoon is the season of looooooove.

Campfire-chu-ly (our version of your July) – We all go camping. Literally, we all go camping.

Ladybugust (our version of your August) – It may seem like a silly name, but there are so many lady bugs. They’re fucking everywhere!

Yuptember (our version of your September) – During this month we honor our neighbors, the yuppies, who will be reuniting with their staplers and schoolbooks.

Rolltober (our version of your October) – The drugs be good and plenty this month.

No-cut-vember (our version of your November) – This one’s pretty self explanatory; guy`s grow out their beards, girls grown out their hair.

Mois de la neige (our version of your December) - Mois de la neige is French for “Month of the Snow” which is way prettier than December.

Knowing the months will at least help you to date the letter you will undoubtedly be sending me as a reply. You don’t have to, but it’d be nice. I’m just trying to be helpful. Just reply to the address in the right hand corner. You know, buy an envelope… and a stamp and write down your address and mine. Then you walk it to your nearest Post Office and… well you know the rest. I have faith in you.
Lots of love,
Drew.