Not sure why I'm still blogging.
I mean, the sane thing to do would be to not only delete the fucking blog, but change the password to this account to something random and lock myself out of it, just to be safe. At least some of us have the good sense not to broadcast their movements for all the world to see.
I mean it doesn't make any sense outside of viewing this all as fiction does it?
The poor sods keep blogging while their world falls to pieces around them despite their minds coming entirely unhinged? Half the people who blog would be in mental facilities.
And the other half would be dead or in prison.
But it's the expectation of the fucking genre, isn't it? The slow, murderous descent into madness and mayhem. Clawing at what scraps of sanity we have left. Hounded at every fucking turn by a fucking faceless thing in a suit.
Actually let's take a fucking look at that for a second. IT WEARS A FUCKING SUIT. Can you comprehend that? There are people, in the world right this minute, being chased by a faceless abomination from god fucking knows where who is genteel enough to put on a suit and tie before he does so. And his fucked up little... what? What do you even call these people? I'm not even sure. But can you start to understand just how absolutely goddamned insane that is?
I really don't think I understand it. I don't think anyone does. Not really. They pretend to but that's getting off of the fucking topic.
But it gets played out. And people watch. It's god damned sickening. I'm ashamed to have been guilty of it, at this point.
But then I never claimed to be a saint.
The compulsion to keep writing, even as one is being devoured.
Lovecraft, at least, would be proud.