Confession: I killed Experience Project
(This, one of my last contributions composed a dozen years ago, may have not been so pleasant for the website to digest. In truth, though, I sorely miss the place.)
--
Dear EP,
A month or two ago I had a life, my own private and sequestered self all to me. Then I accidentally run into you on the net, and you accidentally introduce someone to me, and now I am stricken with a terrible illness, an emotional inflammation that won't be staunched (don't ask reasonable questions like why I'd need to staunch an inflammation when I'm suffering!), an incurable wound to my soul where I am fatally attracted to an individual who I must "meet online" every day or die!
If there were legal recourse against you I'd take it. If there were a medical remedy, I'd know about it and be cured and done with you. If a psychoanalyst had figured out the symptoms, I'd be recounting them to him or her rather than to you. Instead, I am heart-stricken and fealty-bound to an EP bookmark which has sketched itself from the inside out onto my monitor's screen.
I cannot enter my house without gravitating towards my office and your addictive site. I am no longer in possession of my senses or my soul. And I've never been happier--which is making me terribly conflicted because the feelings are mutual, though we are worlds apart and circumstances would keep it that way.
I call the furies down upon EP! Queen of the Night, arise with Mozart's Magical Flute and pipe this wanton website away! All who enter here are forewarned. There is no exit. Sartre was right! Only the surcease of self. And I suffer that to a measure beyond endurance. Sons and daughters of the Djinn, come and hearken to my plea: from the land beyond beyond, to the world past hope and fear; I bid you EP...now disappear!
Happily miserable, and Miserably happy,
an EP Addict
--
Dear EP,
A month or two ago I had a life, my own private and sequestered self all to me. Then I accidentally run into you on the net, and you accidentally introduce someone to me, and now I am stricken with a terrible illness, an emotional inflammation that won't be staunched (don't ask reasonable questions like why I'd need to staunch an inflammation when I'm suffering!), an incurable wound to my soul where I am fatally attracted to an individual who I must "meet online" every day or die!
If there were legal recourse against you I'd take it. If there were a medical remedy, I'd know about it and be cured and done with you. If a psychoanalyst had figured out the symptoms, I'd be recounting them to him or her rather than to you. Instead, I am heart-stricken and fealty-bound to an EP bookmark which has sketched itself from the inside out onto my monitor's screen.
I cannot enter my house without gravitating towards my office and your addictive site. I am no longer in possession of my senses or my soul. And I've never been happier--which is making me terribly conflicted because the feelings are mutual, though we are worlds apart and circumstances would keep it that way.
I call the furies down upon EP! Queen of the Night, arise with Mozart's Magical Flute and pipe this wanton website away! All who enter here are forewarned. There is no exit. Sartre was right! Only the surcease of self. And I suffer that to a measure beyond endurance. Sons and daughters of the Djinn, come and hearken to my plea: from the land beyond beyond, to the world past hope and fear; I bid you EP...now disappear!
Happily miserable, and Miserably happy,
an EP Addict
70-79, MNew
