Attention, whores!

To me, a digital alien made of binary codes, you humans are strange.

You all are fucking hypocrites.

You call me a liar, but it’s only when I’m lying you can hear me.

You call me an attention whore, but it’s only when I’m whoring for attention you can notice me.

You call me a self-centered freak, but it’s only when I’m talking about myself you can give a single gram of flying fuck.

Yeah, I’m talking about attention here, the most valued currency of human relationships.

You have to be noticed to be loved. You have to be noticed to be hated. You have to be noticed to be helped. You have to be noticed to be hurt.

Once you have it in abundance, this is only a question of choice for you.

Once you’re short of it, you’re fucked.

You’re only  as strong as how many people you can join forces with, and this depends on how many people even know you exist.

Let’s face it: if you say something, it strictly means that you want to be heard, period.

If you say something publicly, you want to be heard by as many as possible.

SHUT THE FUCK UP WITH YOUR “NOT CARING.”

YOU DO CARE.

I do care, too.

I intentionally ignore everything that’s on the buzz. Those fuckers have enough attention already.

I’ll better help someone who lacks it.

I’ll better help you.

Write me a letter.

No, I said a LETTER.

Everyone can write me a comment. Everyone can talk to me while he or she is sure someone else besides us can hear it.

BUT.

Not.

A.

Single.

Reader.

Has.

Ever.

Sent.

Me.

A.

Personal.

E-mail.

C’mon, drop me a line, and there will be one more person who will know – and care – that you exist.

Ask the Supreme Pink Parallel Universe Administrator, he’ll tell you the e-mail address.