My Suicide Note

Dear Readers,

Welcome to my shit-hole!

Flip your simstim, jack in to cyberspace, enter the data code, and experience the cybernetic orgasm. Like drugs, like alcohol. Like reading an erotic Kundera. So what do we have here? Thoughts, visions, frustrations, and angst? Information is everywhere, cheap commodities. In the age of information, What-I-am-thinking-Now is what I can only afford to sell, yet I know this shit-world won't buy it. Cheap thrills, I guess. Cheap Happiness.

This is it. Like the songs of Beatles, ‘I dunno why you say goodbye, I say Hello’, yes, say hello to the world. Say Goodbye to the world. Woven with the ebb of longing, and chasing Schrodinger’s Cat, I seek refuge from the world-wide-web. After battling from loneliness and nostalgia, I seek refuge from Eliot Smith. I got overdosed from his dead poetry. And then, Memories must immortalize. Preservation. Self-preservation. Bless the Internet, thank William Gibson, cyberspace offers a tunnel for a fleeting subculture reality. Dream a new world order, Finn! And the last thing I know is that the Matrix has me.

I have no choice but to follow the white rabbit.

Yours,

Daimosigh14