If this is about a recent email I sent to a list of people, I have a response. If not, just ignore my vanity.
It’s not about you. You’re not “off my list” – there isn’t a list anymore. Last month I deleted most of everybody, this month I’m getting rid of everyone else. No more personal blogs/journals/ramblings.
Comics, Poetry, Fiction, Reviews.
and if you don’t like those, there’s always Fuck Yourself To Hell. dot com.
I’ve just completed comics for this week. After that and three more weeks, there will be 101 ME24 comics completed and online, basically on-time M-F for 20 weeks. September 10th is the date for the 101st comic.
Does anyone want to see a 102nd comic appear as though normal come September 13th?
Does anyone care to see the rest of the comics for this week?
More and more this website is devolving from what I wanted it to be into a pointless masturbation. My bizarre/awful posts, my bizarre awful comics, me shouting into emptiness asking for something, anything, and getting nothing. Interrupted only by the occassional muttering from the peanut gallery and nearly overcome by the static from the neighboring radio stations, my little piece of shit site is becoming everything I never wanted it to be: just me.
And if you think you have a personal stake in my life, feel free to disregard all of this – it’s my depression, my 2 AM when I have to be up between 5 and 6, my self-doubt and self-loathing and a sea of stress about what might be so awful about me that people are afraid to mention it as they back slowly away run away screaming as fast as their legs can carry them, and how I’ll be able to afford to live (effectively) alone again. Except not in a part of town where I can get to everything I need/want on foot or bike. Working for a company two or three times further away from my home for half the pay I was burning through the last time I lived alone. If anything I say seems harsh or pointed or otherwise unpalatable, just toss it out; I’m probably just screeching like a zombie rat in a vice – the pressure is unbearable, the pain unstopping, only increasing, and I just can’t seem to die.
Actually I’m mostly not saying anything at all.
Out of discretion.
Probably I’ll give that up soon, too.
Go the way of strict dieting, an exercise plan, and any positive feelings of self.
Fuck.
I should be sleeping.
(This post is in reference to this.)
I would probably have communicated with you in some way, but food for thought:
That feeling you think you would have had if W:PS disappeared totally from ME with no warning?
I had that years ago when you moved all your blogging and posting off ME and onto DC.
I’m basically holding a grudge against you for it, except that every time I look at my website and every time I click a link to read a post you made and every time I look at your site, I am reminded that it’s not so much a grudge as a continually ongoing offense. Same with Zoe and Marie; it’s not just you.
So the fact that I built a site intended to be a “community” site for me and my friends to post on that now every single one of my friends has forsaken for their own (or totally faceless sites run by people they don’t know) is a constant thorn in my side. And if/when each/any of your sites stops being interesting or starts polluting my site (a la Iain’s spam comments, which you may note no longer appear on ME) that’s just too much, you’re gone.
Sorry if that upsets you. You’ll always be welcome to post ON MODERN EVIL if you so choose, just let me know. It’s all this goddamned posting in other places and feeling like you’re owed the right to appear here anyway. It’s a privelidge, something I spent dozens of hours programming into my site, not the normal order of things or a natural right.
…
Gha. At this point I hardly care. Look at the front page. It’s a disgrace. One, maybe two posts a day actually ON Modern Evil, most of them ME24. What’s the point? The site nearly boils down to an easy set of links to posts my friends made so I can keep up with their blogs. Which, if you consider to be the case, means that if I lose interest in reading a blog (becuase 7/8 of the posts are not worth reading, for example) it has no place on my “personal set of links”. And anyone who thinks differently can refer themselves to the name of this blog.
A storm, brewing on the
horizon. That’s what they say,
but this storm seems to
be brewing across and around
the entire sky moving and
growing and threatening to
overcome the relatively calm
patch of sky directly above
me. Lightning strikes far
enough in the distance that
the corresponding thunder
is silence behind the clamor
of traffic all around. Yet
it too surrounds me, flashes
out its warning, claims to
be approaching or otherwise
menacing without ever leaving
the furthest corner of my eye.
The air itself rushes back
and forth and all around me,
giving notion of desperate
destinations for plastic sacks
and dry leaves seeking shelter
from the enclosing gloominess.
Pages practically pulled
plainly from my hands, chasing
the wind after its own
imagined fancies, forgetting
the planned purpose for them
was to capture that very magic.
I breathe a subtle perfume,
hidden on the underneaths
and folded corners of the
city smells – exhausted
fumes carrying lightest
fragrant proof of life and
health in this oft-desert
not just of the senses:
that familiar scent that means
rain. I see it coming
down at the edge of the
sky. Purple clouds blurred
as though stretched and
pulled vertically to the earth
giving new depth to redder
clouds absorbing and relaying
the diminishing rays of a
hidden sunset, together
creating a once-in-a-lifetime
color that no brush can
reproduce and my memory
can do no justice, rain
falling before clouds glowing
before sunset unseen.
Night falling too, taking with
it the distinction between storms,
between clouds, between here
and there. Darkness now
punctuated not by breathtaking
blues and reds and flying and
flitting objects in the wind,
but by light bursting
up and down in and out
behind clouds so fast you
cannot turn to see it,
you can only see it by
staying still: motion so fast
it can only be matched
by stillness equally fast.