It's so strange seeing how silly we were. How silly we remain. How we'll look back on ourselves years from now and talk about how silly we were then and now and soon after now and whenever we were silly. Which was always. Always silly.

And here closing up shop and maintaining my thirst for a private life I have dismantled all the elements of my public life past. I posted poems about my ex-girlfriend so she would read them and then say 'well look at that' and somehow I'd feel like I was being a clever little bastard with my excellent wordplay and fervent utilization of my internal thesaurus. All this was the product of a thirst to get people to notice and wrap my fingers around a concept called individualism and drag it down to my level in order to feel better about myself and feel like I mattered in the long run. That's the nectar of America. Our contemporary opiate is individualism and we think we're hot shit because we are so different and homogenization is always bad and if you conform you must be a Nazi who hates individualism because individualism is freedom... RIGHT???

How silly we were. And how awkward it is to stare into the faces of all those I hated because they stood against everything my naive little heart believed in. The man. The man bringing us all down because he doesn't want us to be free individuals who all press 'submit' simultaneously to post our latest individual thoughts on our individual space for our individual friends to read with their individual eyes. Even the eyes had to be individual because being like the other would be buckling down and letting the man rape you in the ass with his giant cock of social slavery. I'm an individual man, let me express myself.

How awkward to stare at the man and see that he was right. Because the real man is this false individualism. The real man is the man. Is the woman. Is the Black and the White and the Gay and the Straight and the Lovers and the Haters.

You can't blame yourself. You were just a child shrouded in false hope and glamorous thoughts of pretentiousness in the name of anti-pretentiousness.

How silly I was. And you. And us all.

And now I'm here for my private life. And I'm hopping on my train. And there's nothing wrong with that.