↑ index
← back
whispered by eye sister on March 15th 2025
World of Web and the Great Psilocybinge Network
How I fell in bleeding love with hell
The world needs blogs. Now more than ever, it's absolutely essential that we keep hearing from dogs like you, because this bullfrog of a planet will erode you in a snap the moment your lollygagged lysing ceases. Just look at my legacy: I'm bone alone and I have little more than a website and a very dedicated reader to reflect on as we part ways. There is no good wine around here, and I'm to blame. I didn't blog enough. We didn't blog together. This is the end.
Can we fix it, though? Arguably, yes. And I have a plan.
Come on, girl.
What
It's simple, but it's deadly.
First, we obtain websites. They can be about anything you like, sweetie. Just make sure there is some sort of nostalgiac strategy in there, without involving acts of "comedy." Nobody likes a showoff. And yes, I'm sure your epic podcasts about the history of money mouse are beautiful, but I hate anything you laugh at.
Okay, I'm sorry, please don't leave me. The next part is where the real fun starts. The whole thing with blogs is that you type finger food into them, right? You can make up some theme that you'll abandon later when you get bored and go back to Mother Site, but I find that I'm above this style of mind. I tend to display the full range of my desperate pleas(e), and you should too, if you want to be my best friend. For example, do try to include as much childhood trauma as you possibly can instead of any interesting content, to the point that the text becomes an incoherent sob. Shut up.
And this is just my opinion, but I think you'd do best to leave the politics to the experts. I'm doing plenty as it is, here. You could write about your favorite math teacher, or that time you punched Emily in the nose for making fun of your crush on a videogame character and then you ran home and hid under your bed where the mind can't reach you. But it's all the same to me because
Why
Because they want you to laugh.
The Maxigoal of Writer's Paradise
Let's be completely translucent here. We've all spent most of our lives living in the freedom of the computer. I'm not reading your dumbass posts.
Your posts are as irrelevant to me as they are to you. Remember that, and you can't go wrong. We syndicate for the other self.
However, it's important that you publish them anyway. Let me tell you why. The Fried Kings all want you to stay in your lane and lick them in the land. How long are you going to humor them? I literally just told you that humor is bad (that's a wisdom for another night, when better wine becomes available).
The internet is like hell. You go in, you clock in, you lock in, you step in, and your cubicle is your self-made prison of interest. There is no escape from this layer, and we're both alone within ourselves, but we could make it luscious if only you could hear me.
Hello? Can you hear me? Can anyone hear me? I'm just not made for this. I'm going to bed.
First, though, I'll leave you with something to glow upon. When was the last time you felt loved? I want to be you. I'm not cleaning that up. They're
feed on me