unsubstantiated rumor that Melanie Jackson denied Playboy Japan "interview"

[Heikki Raudaskoski]

Ms Jackson - so they say - has sent a message, directly from her office
desk, to you alone, her pathetic wannabe, a tiny shadow which has taken
refuge at the furthest distance from the intellectual sun. She ordered
the herald to kneel down beside her ergonomic desk and whispered the
message in his ear. She thought it was so important that she had the herald
speak it back to her. She confirmed the accuracy of verbal message by nodding
her head. And in front of the entire crowd of those witnessing her wedding
anniversary - for once, the Venetian blinds have been pulled up, and all
intermediate managers of her firm are standing before her window in the
open-plan office - in front of all of them she dispatched his herald. The
messenger started off at once, a powerful, tireless man. Sticking one arm
out and then another, he makes his way through the crowd. If he runs into
resistance, he points to his breast where there is a sign of a belly-up
badger. So he moves forwards easily, unlike anyone else. But the in-crowd
is so huge; its dwelling places are infinite. If there were an open field,
how he would fly along, and soon you would hear the marvellous pounding of
his fist on your door. But instead of that, how futile are all his efforts.
He is still forcing his way through the rooms on the nth floor. Never
will he win his way through. And if he did manage that, nothing would have
been achieved. He would have to fight his way down the steps, and, if he
managed to do that, nothing would have been achieved. He would have to stride
through the mezzanine, and after the mezzanine through the open-plan office
on the (n-1)th floor, and, then again, through steps and mezzanines, and
then, once again, an open-plan office, and so on for thousands of years. And
if he finally burst through the outdoor - but that can never, never happen -
the capital capital city, the center of the world, is still there in front
of him, piled high and full of sediment. No one pushes his way through here,
certainly not someone with a message from a woman who is having a wedding
anniversary.  But you sit at your window and dream of that message when
evening comes.