Dear Reader,

HELLO. We have never met, most likely. It will stay this way in all probability. I know I’d probably appreciate that, what with my occasionally crippling shyness. So if you recognize me from my behaviour in public, kindly fuck off, you’ll just make me sad. If you do feel the need to approach me, do so slowly and from the front. Don’t make eye contact, I will just…man, I will sweat so much so fast, no one will be happy. I’m letting you know this as much for you as for myself.

A while ago, a stranger spoke to me at a bookstore. This troubled me greatly. He wasn’t staff, so there was no agreed upon social nicety that was being followed. I was completely lost. It was awful. The conversation wasn’t awful, it was rather nice, if bland. What is to be expected, we didn’t know each other, lay off the guy. Dicks. Anyway, He complimented me on my boots, and we started talking about comics because of course that’s where I was. I could feel blood rushing up to my face, the blush rising, HEAT BUILDING. He mentioned he was an actor. I immediately came to the rational decision that that was why he was speaking to me at all. “Ah,” I thought,” that’s why. He’s not a normal human, he’s an actor. One of THOSE.” I then had to leave, as my ride had arrived. We did not exchange names. I awkwardly said goodbye: “well…aaaaaaaanywaaaaaay…” As I moved, I felt my backpack shift and suddenly realized that I had been sweating like it was my job.

This was a good interaction with a stranger. I don’t regret it, despite it haunting me to my very core. I think he may have been hitting on me, but I don’t know. I’m bad at picking up on that stuff, and even if he was, while flattering, I am the wrong tree to bark up in that particular forest. Weird sentence.

To get to the point of this whole missive, this is what I do. I stream of conscious write letters. I have written many over the years and, with the recipient’s permission, you will get the opportunity to read them. I will also just ramble stories at you, often about pop culture, I’m betting as that’s kinda my thing. I’m not much good at anything else. My writing program just corrected “kind of” to “kinda” and this type of shorthand from a program troubles me. Now it wants to correct “kinda” to “kinds.” It is clearly full of shit and doesn’t know what it wants. Does this mean it’s passed the Turing test? It is one of us now, lost, confused, and purposeless. Welcome to life, sweet little Computron, prepare for existential misery, spattered with just enough joy to make you, not think of an early exit!

Jesus, that got dark. I am not allowed to speak to any sentient beings that are new. You heard me.

I’ll also likely pop up some drawings (I can’t really draw anything complicated, so keep your excitement to a dull roar), maybe some audio stuff, and some video stuff. I’m thinking this will mostly be writing, as I find it therapeutic when I’m actually able to get into the right headspace to do it.

That’s about it. I hope you enjoy this. I hope I can keep this up and don’t get depressed or have a panic attack or anything. These are actual possibilities, so…yeah, raising the stakes!


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