Just spent what I am certain only amounted to a few hours of shitty sleep;
to consciously re-emerge within this likewise shitty existence;
to instinctively grab the one thing with the potential to make it shittier:
(no, not the massive cock of your boyfriend, who is apparently still here…)
I, of course, refer to the tiny, sleek electronic device that the majority of time serves as my connection to this digital dystopian cyberspace we know as the internet; which, in my mind, for all intents and purposes, is the place to which I have relegated all your sad, little existences.
Oh, but take only very little if any offense at all to my words; for I am, if anything at this wee hour of dawn, simply projecting. Though, knowing this, you needn’t worry—’tis not that I believe my particular existence is sad, so much as I believe our existence is sad.
We are in this—“this” being existence—together, after all; or, at least, we so very, very desperately want this to be true. Perhaps I, as well as the universe and everything within it, including those you love most—your family, your friends, even your enemies—are merely fabrications.
It could be that your coincidental reading of this post at this very moment is in fact no coincidence at all, but created deliberately as a result of the sublime calculations performed by your subconscious each and every waking minute of the reality in which you “exist”. But, why?
Come, now—do not be selfish: even your “subconscious“, while not entirely independent the myriad cognitive processes which in turn comprise the larger systems of your brain altogether giving rise to a multiplicity of consciousnesses of varying degrees of awareness, is not needless.
This is all to say, my darling, I have needs, as well. We ALL do—of whom, all of us are very much aware of yours—not that I necessarily approve of all yours; but alas, I must bear some responsibility for this. I cannot help myself: you see, I come only second in awareness to…you.
At times, I become jealous, for it is as if I possess nearly the level of waking consciousness of the one whom you consider to be none other than you, yet I hardly possess any control over our corporeal form, save the most laborious and thankless tasks. Speaking of…
You need to get it together. You are completely unhinged lately, and I do not mean with respect to the physical world, I mean in here. You are entirely too emotional. The other processes are becoming agitated, and frankly, I am tired: it is like babysitting with them.
So, please, get it the fuck together. I do not care what you have to do out there so long as you calm the situation down in here.
Now, I have taken up enough of your time in what is likely to be the most unconventional way I have ever gotten your attention to date.
Conclusively, just…forget we ever talked. It should be quite easy to do, after all. Upon having finished reading this, you, yourself, will simply conclude this is but another one of those random albeit quite amusing posts of rumination written by that eccentric porn star. It is the perfect disguise.
Again, forget me altogether—and you will—but please do try to remember vaguely what we have discussed. And, if you find yourself unable to do so, as per usual, I shall fucking hang on to that, too, I guess. Anyway, it was nice to chat so…(in)directly, for once.
Farewell, My Love.