Yes. I am a Gaimanite. Sue me.

This is mostly for the wonderful folk (namely Olga and Jewlie) over at The Fabulist, who, for their wonderful work on finding desperately cool and highly amusing things and for finding a way for me to flex creative muscles during the doldrums of the office day, deserve high praise.

And, also, because I just couldn't back down from the challenge.

(You will click on this, and you will love it, and you will buy it, because it is fantastic.)

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Neil Gaiman: an acronym

When you talk to me about books (or comics, or movies), and
Hear me mention, within an hour, a moment, a breath, (and
Everyone who knows me well will remember), something I
Read or heard or found that’s wonderful or strange or
Exceptional, and you ask me, “Where
‘S that from,” I’ll say, “Neil told me.”

Not that I couldn’t live without him, but
Every time
I think about what it would be
Like if, one day, he wasn’t there, I worry.

What if, on the day
He vanished, all the stories that he held in his head,
Every fantasy and fable, monster and witch,
Now that he was gone, were set free?

You’d go mad, wouldn’t you, in a world where gods reached
Out of the sky to play chess with cities, where the monsters
Under the bed were suddenly on a pub crawl?

Nations would panic and run in a world where
Every closet held a secret world, where
Every cat became a king of men and mice, and
Dreams sat down for tea with faeries.

How would we look then,
In our suits and skirts and polo shirts,
Mouthing at the sky:

WHERE’S NEIL WHEN YOU NEED HIM?