2004-02-02 - 10:05 a.m.

So Long, Fucko's.

Y�ever heard the saying, �all good things must come to a close?� Welp, I don�t know if a person might consider this endeavour, these last five months and 190 entries as �good things,� but it�s definitely time to close shop and move on.

This is where I explain a little, so it�s like this:

Recently I started posting the story I�ve been writing (reads like a fairy tale for adults, fuckwits), something I�ve never done before�and that fact that I was posting an incomplete thought really got up my fucking ass like a Scot with a sheep. But to top it all off I woke up one afternoon and saw that, in an Xstatic splendor, I�d asked for fucking opinions at some point.

I�ve never asked peoples opinions about my writing. EVER. But don�t for a fucking second think a handfulla �it�s pretty crap(py)� typed reviews is the reason I�m Setting the Son. Read back a couple entries past the story. I�ll be fucked with a corn cob before I let �bad reviews� get to me. I discount �I don�t like it� reviews because there is no inherent reasoning or logic behind them. Note to most: Learn how to review and argue intelligently. You should never say a fucking word without the ammo to back that shit up.

This �looking for affirmation� Dr. Phil-typed shit I was doing, that wasn�t what The Setting Son was ever meant to be. It wasn�t Son Shade. This was never about �asking opinions.� It was only meant to be an exercise in Journal-styled writing, starring the best �non fiction-typed� character I know. Me. My take on life is stranger than fucking fiction, so I fucking wrote about it.

And got a lot of good feedback � and I found I liked, because I normally never read reviews or ask opinions. The feedback early on was when shit started getting fucked around for me, I believe.

But I�ll go back a step further by saying that a lot of you assumed a helluvalot when it came to the ol� Son (as�ve been obvious in your notes and messages). Like the fact I�m an aspiring writer. Or that I�ve never been published. Or that I work in an �ad agency.� Or that I live in Vancouver. Or that I have legs, that I�m not a chick, that I�m in my 30�s, that I�m not in prison.

I�m not fucking sayin� I�m any of those or not�but right from the fucking giddy-up there�s been a constant theme, �don�t judge a fucking book by its cover.� Remember my 3-eyed Smiley Face tat? �Zacaly.

I�ll leave it up to you to decide the difference between fact and fiction. I�ll say, straight up that this journal became more personal than I�d anticipated, and that is another reason I�m closing up the store. �Cause caring what people think and letting people in on thoughts, on such a microscopic level, is never what I intended. It�s everything I�m not.

One thing�s for certain, I am a writer (and a Photoshop God, but how much of a living can be made in that, really?) and one thing holds true with all storytellers is the ancient maxim, �All writers are liars.� Go back and look. Switch nouns with other nouns, read the subtext. Who I am is in there, hidden in those things I did.

None of this was ever supposed to be about you, the reader. I could have done this on a pad with a pen and it�d have done the trick.

That being said, I enjoyed and appreciated nearly every piece of feedback and any correspondence that�d been prompted by something I�d said. I liked the fact people read my shit, although I really didn�t need the proof.

So that�s that. I�m splitting because The Setting Son has become tedious. For the past month or so it�s become a chore and now that I know why, it�s time to cut the gangrenous limb off and let you carrion fowl have at it � time to refocus and meet impending deadlines (self imposed and otherwise).

I�m still gonna haunt my regulars, the handful of you who I�m fans of know already who you are. Keep it up. I look forward to more voyeuristic reading and vicarious living.

And I�m not gonna say I�ll never be dropping a note again. I�m off to Germany for several weeks in March and April, so I�m sure I�ll want to rub some of that shit in, fer sure.

So, with that I bid you adieu and goodbye.

Now fuck off.

There really is FUCK ALL more to see here, Assface.

The Son Has Set on ALL of You

02.02.03.10.04

6 of you fuckers have been accounted for.

old shit. - newer shit.