February 28, 2013

• Who was this?

   

  The year is 2005. Xanga is flying high and this guy is one of its new kings. Not much more than newbie when the entry below was posted. This entry had well over 400 comments from about 200 different people one can only guess at how many thousands of people read it. This was not his biggest and far from his best entry by a long shot. And he was not alone, Xanga was hot back then. He was famous here and the fame lasted for years. But internet fame is so fleeting

  Who wrote this?

  It should be easy no one else wrote like this. And I have given a lot of clues. Some of you will know, but you are few. This guy was a legend around here yet now the fame is long gone.

  If you know for sure who this is, just say you know and do not name him. If you are not sure guess and give a name. Most can only say I have no idea

   

  [begin transmission]

   

  I know what you are thinking, but I also know that you are wrong.

   

  This isn’t one of my self-indulgent resentful tirades against the masses, or some pontification about some of the perpetual fuckupitude of my life, I’m afraid.

   

  No, this is my farewell letter to xanga, ladies and gents. I’m going to be taking a bit of a break. No idea how long; could be a couple weeks, could be a few months, could be how the fuck ever long it takes for me to feel like I have anything to post in this place. Abuse of the masses is being put on hold.

   

  Anyways. I’m making this farewell all verbose and loquacious and shit so you have one last taste of — before I’m the fuck out of here. I know, I know, with me gone, you’ll have no idea what the fuck to read, but if you look around, I’m sure you can find someone else worth reading who might even throw some misanthropy and hostility in there as well. Maybe even then you’ll forget about me, that skinny pretentious alcoholic kid from Ithaca. If so; fuck you in advance. I rock. Just…not right now.

   

  Here’s the lowdown;

   

  …fuck.

   

  You know, I had the words all planned out, too; a wry little speech on what I’d be doing and how much I hated you all, but, you know what? The reason I’m not writing that shit is the reason I’m having my little retirement; because I have sincere fucking writer’s block (and it’s been going around, apparently, some sort of winter-based creative malaise) and it’s turning itself over into a bad-ass case of writer’s insecurity, and I don’t fucking want that. Nothing like reading other people produce genius and you yourself thinking “Oh, well, I used to be able to do that” to put that gamy flavor of uncertainty into anything you may have written already. For those of you who know, it is a terrible fucking thing, and after you get that, everything goes downhill from there, until it gets harder and harder to create until all you can do is just stare at the notepad or whatever and not be able to press those keys or put pen to paper without paralyzing yourself. This crippling disability of making the words into what you want them too.

   

  I’m sure you get the point. Well, okay, no I’m not, because a lot of you are rather stupid and presumptive and like to come up with deranged and quite retarded conclusions, but the day I realized some of you couldn’t spell Ithaca properly was the day I knew playing for the intellectual crowd was over. Yeah, I had to throw that in there, because I really don’t mind elaborating on how resentfully full of hatred I am. I could talk about that for weeks and months and years.

   

  But, I won’t.

   

  If you really want to interact with me, I’ll be on AIM whenever my wireless isn’t acting like it was fucked up the ass by a steroid-maddened polar bear (they’re the worst; heroin-addicted squids come in a close second. squidgina. no, don’t think about it…too late), and if you want to start some form of correspondence (and I might share bits and pieces of whatever fragmentary bullshit I do create), you can reach me at — I’m checking my email more regularly these days (instead of the twice a day shit which I’m typically used to), and there will be one last protected post up for that crowd much later today or possibly tomorrow. Before my premium expires and the list goes from three hundred and eighty four people down to ten.

   

  I’ll still probably post in —- every now and again, because it’s my fucking journal and you’re all assholes for acting like otherwise (and yes, I’m an asshole for linking it a good deal, but then nice guys don’t get shit done), and I’ll check my subscriptions here and there, but for the most part, the great wheels of Misanthropy Equilibrium, Inc. are done turning. Noncompliance with the turn-stoppage will result in weasels being sent to bite your nipples off, and a strange German genetically engineered panda to molest your sister.

   

  I really don’t know what was up with all the animal-based violent threats in the previous paragraph either. I’m in a rut. At this moment, that dream of actually writing something real instead of just dicking around with the internet crowds has been given an unattainable shine and put up on a far shelf, out of my grasp. Bootheel right into the soul again, man.

   

  Seems like at this moment a lot of writers are going away or gone, I’m just taking the time to give you all an extended bye. Because I’m like that.

   

  The rest is silence.

   

  (Or some profound shit like that. I’m still deep goddammit!)

   

  ——-

  PS: There are some of you who have made mention that you’re with me in this whole mess until the end, bitter or not, and while I honestly don’t know what inspires such loyalty (and sometimes I am tempted to have you shot accordingly), this is not that end. This is just a stop and regroup.

  Hopefully.

   

   

   

   

   

   

  • 8:57 pm
  • 30 Comments