3 February 2025
Comrades, I have two real articles on which I am working. However, in the time betwixt composing them, I am inevitably sucked into that degenerate shite-hole of a dumpster called the Internetwork, for is that not where we are at this moment? Seeing the plethora of unrestrained degeneracy sickens me to my very core. It is not but one thing, in one sphere of life, it is absolutely every-thing, which undoubtedly comes from particular circles, but which in the cesspool of the Internetwork taints all else.
The slang, which is indicative of a society's concerns and problems at the surface level, is the most prominent degeneration, but it is also just the surface, the lowly fruit that is rotting on the ground. The critique must go deeper if it is to impress the lemming-society. Putting it simply, comrades: this is not my area of expertise, and I already have my mind full with those areas which are. I have looked at concerning trends, and have assembled them together into theories, but my lack of specialty and reputation makes me uneasy. Added to this that such a subject is very dear to me, making me likely sad and angry, it is not a good subject for me to become involved in taken all-together. I have attempted twice to put my serious worries into a similar register, but I have failed both times.
That is why I have decided to 'cordon off' the subjects covered on my Netlog a bit. It is still to be expected that some-times an idiosyncratic article might slip into publication, but at a far lower rate than before. This coincides with a cordoning of myself off from the Internetwork, which may only be a positive development. I am reading theory at a quickening pace, allowing me to now explore the realm of reading philosophy, a design which I had hitherto been most disinclined to begin, due simply to the management of time. With the final degeneration of the lonesome Internetwork in my personal world, I feel the bountiful harvest of freedom nourishing me.
Because of this cordoning off as well, I have had much more time for the writing of fiction. Such a devalued occupation discourages most from this pursuit, but I have long thought that it is my true Beruf, the calling which may not be staid. I hope this Netlog to be the last connexion I am forced to have with the vulgar, poisonous, and hoplessly vile Internetwork. To be free, one must abandon cyber-space, and rejoice in real-space.
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