It's when you no longer need conversations, but action, maybe.
And action is exempt from anonymous friends.
It's been quite sometime since I've written up this thread, and I was initially embarrassed by it all. How stupid is it to articulate within the medium you mildly detest?
And so we carry on, still in the same chassis roaming these bits when the motor is all haywire and leading you to some glazed-eye fucked up worldview.
Despite the length of one's stay, it's interesting how it debilitates your essence - to that, the longer you stay, the more estranged and disgruntled you appear.
With a youth transported through the net, I'm not sure if I will overcome the fun of this exercise you describe as that's the very reason I come here too. Solve some amusing puzzles as one turns away the screaming and the hunger.
Writhe around as all is wanton to do. Needle word-worms as graffiti squirms your head. My words become poison as much as the antidote to all that let their essence up.
And your words are my parasites. We're slushing around in this cybermeat catastrophe that only the glancers can maintain as anything more than a mild distraction, a superb entertainment.
Perhaps it can be done with only your journal alone, or among more worthy contenders that bother to write whole books of things you're ruminating on. To solve puzzles in the piercing silence that becomes a home.
It's just amusing that it's been so long and still so limp one can be. A continual breakthrough, but so amusing that the agglutinate info-balls of mind-rewrites thicken and inert your motives. All so difficult to stave off, but welcome the challenge, yea?
Makes you realize how melodramatic some can appear to be - and yet I detest anything less. Why not talk of scriptures and magical spells?
Regardless, I've found some portals and perhaps this one will close for much longer than anticipated, as there are many topaz crystals to collect.
Embark ye who yet is ready for battle against modern living sludgery.
My post is only a jostle toward the menance of the net-ghost soul-suckers. There is so much beauty that awaits all of us, as long as one grazes their hand along the grass they'd rather trample over.
Goodbye, Eternal September Spectres.