Being Inaccessible Is OK, Actually; And An Untitled Poem


I would argue that I am not a “very online” person. I have been more online in the past, but become increasingly less so as time goes on. Simply, I don’t give a fuck about all that. At my core, I am an artist, and that moniker stretches across multiple disciplines. I create this or that and sometimes it is for me and sometimes I try to put it out in the world for people to adopt as their own. But I am not concerned with being accessible. I, myself, am not the art, though it surely comes from me. I have no love for “cult of personality” types. I figure it’s hard enough to convince people to buy art, let alone have to sell my goddamned self.

Approachable? Sure. I’m not interested in being mean to anyone. Being mean is exhausting.

Besides, being online is just depressing. People are depressing. Culture is disappointing. I try to, as much as it is possible to do so, exist outside whatever everyone else is doing. I’m happy with what I do. Validation is uninteresting to me.

I once noted that my ultimate goal was to become a ghost. What better way to do that than by fucking off and thriving on being left alone? I’ve taken one release out of print (Necrosaurus Rex) and you had better believe I am waiting patiently to run out the contract on the next book. When that happens, I’ll be having that taken out of print, too.

Let this work be ephemeral. After all, everything is. Folly to think otherwise.

I suppose this post is in part inspired by the fleeting glimpses of online turmoil, people tearing each other down, and people packing it up and moving on. But I also find myself, always, thinking on the past, and how the past is inaccessible outside of whatever memory you have convinced yourself that you retain. Here and gone, all of it. What does my father’s voice sound like? I think I hear it but I know it’s just a facsimile.

I mostly find myself trying to enjoy each day as it comes. No allotment of days can be known. Lucky to have what I’ve had, and damn well intend to enjoy whatever may be left.


I miss your face

My dear friend

Like yesterday

So long ago

I close my eyes

And I die

In that dark

You and I

Like yesterday

So long ago

My dear friend

I miss your face

And the space

Where we collide

4 thoughts on “Being Inaccessible Is OK, Actually; And An Untitled Poem

  1. I think I get what you’re saying. I don’t do Twitter or FB or stuff like that. Too much anger there. What I don’t understand, though, is what that has to do with your books in print. Once a story leaves your metaphorical typewriter, it’s the reader’s story. I would think the reader at that point is interacting with the story, not interacting with your private self.

    Good poem.:-)


    1. Hi, Priscilla! The point I was (a bit obtusely on my part) addressing was a need on the part of some people to conflate content with intent. I see it a lot in online discourse and it is always dismaying to me. Glad you liked the poem. Always appreciate your comments!

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Pingback: I Signed Out of Twitter, Forever. – Nicholas Day

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