It’s so dark around. I don’t know where I end and it begins. I have to crawl through this stuff and play a role with these characters. I’m not sure I’m fit for this kind of work. I certainly don’t have the company of women. Being invisible is a skill not a gift. It takes a very keen sense of worthlessness to activate such distance. A portable loneliness, if it were. You carry it everywhere. Even into your dreams where it haunts your decisions; mocking you. Well, I’ve just about had enough of that. I almost added shit to the last of that sentence, but I don’t curse much anymore. I’m a coffee table magazine at best. The free little pamphlets you see on the counter at the corner five and dime; that’s me. I litter the floor of your car with my propaganda. I’m the author of the poison control phone number on the back of your cleaning agents under your sink. I’m the chemically printed receipt inserted into your fucking happy meal. The food tastes just as bad without me. And that wasn’t a compliment. So, this darkness I spoke of; it’s creeping up the edges of my notion. Catching my attention on a number of occasions. I don’t usually give it much attention but it plays with the senses. Just out of direct view, but a prick of sorts when it wants you to recall your regrets. It’s a clouding element, like a gas, if only neon could be black and far less conductive. It champions your fears and flits around your head in its own foggy byproduct like a fairy on shrooms. It’s you as a child but somehow queered. Enough about my dark observances. You may see them soon enough if you remove the shards of broken perfume bottles from your olfactory.
There’s another thing going on. Remember the goals you set when you were still growing? Well, I don’t. I likely didn’t set goals. After dreams get trampled, goals seem far less satisfying. I’d rather be flying reverse-engineered saucer technology for the black military than typing out a bunch of secrets into the vast expanses of the idiotnet. The only comments worth reading are the spam ads for cigar forums or Russian websites that install botnets. Spammers are the only messages I get. My ideas are usually very developed and leave little space for the reader’s imagination. This is a mistake (from a marketing perspective) I commonly make because I have a very specific view of the world; including the darkness. It’s all very obvious to me and that makes me write very strong arguments. I could curb it, but I don’t want to. I like that my arguments are strong, it’s an open challenge to communicate. But the idiotnet is populated by articles about: famous movie monsters, TV shows, guides for sports, riding a bicycle, lists of dumb shit that are [fill in the blank], and the rest of that garbage. It is cannon fodder; filler for idiots because they don’t want you to notice the real topics that actually concern you or can affect you. I feel that people have become soulless. There is a significant deficiency in the ethereal plasma department.
Maybe this is how idiotnet people disconnect from their life. They read dumb shit and comment on dumb shit and revolve around dumb shit and reply to dumb shit comments on the dumb shit topics. I’d like to think their unplugged life is full of culture and color and substance and love and listening and observation and reasoning and logic and compassion and feeling, but then I remember; this new breed never unplugs. I reiterate, I think they are soulless. And for that; fuck them and the IP they rode in on. They see a picture of a lifeless body after the executioner has done his work and they feel nothing. There is no empathic ability in their hearts or their heads. They’re dead inside and feel nothing but the artificial spike in the vein when they medicate and cannibalize more parts of their soulless identities.
And now for something completely different.
I went outside for fifteen minutes this early morning and observed my environment and what it is like at four in the morning. That will probably be the highlight of my day. The rest of the day will be spent trying to actually sleep instead of resting and fighting my skin reactions to poisonous plant exposure for spending a little bit of time over the past week cutting down weeds, plants and ivy. This may justify why I’m currently so ornery. No, it can’t. There is no justification for my behavior. There are explanations, but I will not justify them. The early-morning night sky was only eclipsed in its grandeur by the startling lack of noise. I heard a great deal of natural sound because the martial law transmitters aren’t active that early in the morning. I didn’t hear the humming of the radiated spectrum pollution. I was at peace. And for a moment, before I returned to the cave, I felt hopeful for a future where I could be happy. That’s all I’m expressing at this time.
-Jeremy Edward Dion