Friday, January 07, 2005

new

i am in foxtown. from here i can hear internet broadcast from london, a name which i have decided for the time being not to encode. i took time, earlier this afternoon, to view a website to which i have paid little attention in the last several months, though i remain a subscriber. the name is glore-phoria, and the people who inhabit it are not un-similar to myself in many ways, although these days those ways turn out to be slightly less than visible. among the people who convene at this site, are a number of girls, many of whom i have known as internet personalities, some whom i have only known in the way we know celebrities, and a few who i have met in person, in the physical world, either before or after i knew them as fellow identities on this site. i took a moment to read the words of one of those latter persons today, whose virtual personality was part of what initially drew me into glore-phoria's kingdom, now turning empire, and who i later met in person, and who suprised me at the smallness of her size. she spoke of troubles with her life, and she told of a general depression, and a sadness of such apparent depth that someone asked her in a coffeeshop "what's wrong?" upon simply seeing her, and recognizing something unseen. to this question she simply replied, "i'm tired," which is all anyone should expect, when asking such a question of someone in such a state. however, she claimed this statement was not untrue; and went on to explain that she is tired of this thing and that thing about her life, and tired of trying to fix it. i cannot say whether this was theraputic or surprising, or a strange mixture of the two, but it caught my eye, somewhere out there on the infinite landscape of stimuli, as it reflected somewhat my own situation, though it was more clearly and simply stated, and the point more punctually arrived at. and also what attracted me about this story, was that it was being told by a member of a group of people in which i had once desperately craved membership, the effects of whose denied inclusion still may hold murkilly some lingering effects upon me. the memory of such desire, still fresh enough to hardly be considered clearly something past, combined with this declaration of misery, held onto me as a curious and sudden suspension of all sense between desire and disgust.

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