skewed visions

Statement for a podcast series I'll be a part of in October:

I require constant proof of my existence. My own experience isn't enough; I must be part of someone else's experience. Yours. Proof requires witnesses. And so it is here, in this bodiless space online, where I am the most real. Google me. I am here twenty-four hours a day, for anyone, anywhere. Information, once disseminated, never completely disappears. I never completely disappear. I put up every photo I take, every thought I have, on Facebook, Twitter, Flickr, my website, my blog. When that isn’t enough, I write letters to strangers on the internet, and then I take screen shots of those letters and put them on the internet. I write down stories about my life. I tell them to you. This is me, watching me, watching me. This is me.

Last one was so...normal. This one might be better.

Henry has now messaged all of my friends

And my profile revamping and message writing has NOTHING to do with that. Really. NOTHING.

The sad thing is that, even though the crazed infatuated state is fading, and I'm not so perfectly sure that I want him to be my boyfriend, I still get terribly jealous at the idea that he is messaging anyone else after having been naked with me. I should be everything he wants, even if he isn't. Because, apparently, what I really like is the ego-trip that comes with a person's affection. I guess that's something I knew about myself, but it's unpleasant to be faced with it so directly.