The author is a delusion, agreed upon by society, which sometimes manifests during the process of reading. If you are reading this right now, you may be under the presumption that Daria exists. You would only be partially wrong. Some say Daria evolved from the left over pasta sauce forgotten in the back of a second-year Physics student’s fridge, emerging fully-formed and blinking from the crisper drawer one rainy afternoon. Others say Daria is one of several humans possessed by the long dead and quite angry spirit of a three-legged alley cat named Pickleface. Still others say that long ago, Daria arose from a failed poet’s recycle bin, the mountain of crumpled paper having gained sentience through a strange mutation of grammar, and that the fiction attributed to this “author” is in fact a misguided attempt by the abomination to locate its accidental creator.
Write a comment, make a complaint, say hello why don’t you?