I struggle with this.

I live, to an extent, around four different lives, and it's starting to get hard to keep up.
There is here, the webmaster of 94673. An author? A writer, at least. I've said things that
people kept close to their hearts. There's 'me', online, playing Artfight and reblogging
pictures of dimly lit streets on Tumblr. Listens to shitty music and boasts about it on
Discord. 'social media'. Reddit. What have you. There's a 'me' that writes, very well.
this one, secretive, has an alternative account to say things about craven-ness and filth.
proud degenerate, friendless, frightened. Comments on written pornography. Afraid.
deeply afraid.

There is 'me', real life, accountant. Anemic. Dim-witted and quiet. Punchline of many an
office joke. Silent in my room, waiting until it's morning and I can leave for work again.
temporary salvation in cinemas and libraries, but there's no place that wants me, not
really. Escape online, again, to my site and my nothing. One relative, and none that can
stand me. There was once a light place, with aunts and animals and grandmothers fussing
over me, my pre-rotting corpse. I am nothing, and I have nothing. None of these characters
I play seem to align with my own feelings and virtues, the pornographer perhaps coming the
closest (ha!). Sometimes, the webmaster and the online nano-celebrity (smaller than micro)
can overlap on account of both being relatively inoffensive. (blegh.) The accountant can,
sheepishly, admit to having a website, as long as they pretend not to want to show it off
(they're shy, you see). None of these are real people. I am not a real person.

I'd love to be able to merge some of them. I'd love to show the nano-celebrity's friends
the writings of the pervert, and I'd love for the pervert to have their works shown,
proudly, on the front page of a website. But I'm afraid, on the other hand, to lose the
little I have. And I hate that the real person behind it all is so incredibly dull.

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