I'll be honest: I've fallen out of love with this place, and the Internet generally. The Web is a grand postmodern wasteland of human thought, punctuated by only a few gleaming gems. You people have been my jewels, and I thank you, but I cannot stand this any more. I cannot stand art any more. Either I am not a true artist, or I am truer; that is to say, either I am sick of it because I cannot effectively take part in it, or I am sick of it because I despise the constant labelling of 'art' upon what should be the free expression of simply being.
I do not write very much any more, and perhaps this is well. When I do jot down the occasional snippet, it is always just that: a snippet, a brief thought designed to sound profound but lacking real substance. I have half-written three novels and two collections of poetry. I have finished nothing. I am a failure in this as in many other aspects of my life, and this website only serves to remind me of the beautiful flourish my mind might one day have been capable of, but which is now deader than fuckin' dead.
I am a fool who wants to be a genius. I have always been a fool who wants to be a genius. I have always fallen in love and never carried through. Carrie(d) through...
I'm sorry to anyone who cares. I cannot and will not and shall not continue to pretend I am anything worthwhile any longer. It was lovely knowing or half-knowing you. Thank you for the kind comments; I remember every one. Thank you for helping me pretend I was a genius. But I must be honest, now, at the end: 'I'm a loser, babyyyyyy, so why don't you kill meeeeee?' That's all I do well, isn't it? Quote genius.
Bye bye bye bye bye. Thanks for the delusion.