Grand Theft Cerebrum

Dolorem ipsum I can't think of anything really hurtful to say. Oh, wait, what's this? A blogsite? Dormant since 2020? Score.

Yes, people, it has been brought to my attention that, unfortunately, passages from my writings on this blogsite, and some short passages from my Hidden Treasures Project, have been used without my knowledge, or permission. In an attempt to extort emotional response from third parties, and to bring forth feelings of sadness, sorrow, jealousy, and desperation, stuff from my old posts have been copied and pasted and sent as messages. 

To put it plainly, my words have been used to try and cause pain and fuck up lives.

What I have created here have been attempted to pass off as someone else’s words. Very specific excerpts of works published on this site have been laboriously isolated from context and then forwarded to at least one third party with the idea of trying to cause bad feelings, to brainwash others into seeing their tormentor as a godlike figure who cavalierly spreads intel about how they are quite the sparky with words, and to create a powerful air of superiority. My name, along with the name of this blogsite, neither of these hard to come by of course, have been given in the end when the jig was up as some callous and superficial paint-by-numbers sorry-I-didn't-mean-it. 

For sure they couldn't possibly have meant it.

I have a very unique writing style, and the recipient of the messages smelled the very distinct smell of horseshit from the get-go.

 

These heinous, narcissistic, and disgusting acts by the individual who considered this a good idea even for a second and thought they could get away with it, are not only asininely stupid and dangerously malevolent in their sole attempt to cause chaos and heartache, in other words, to induce pain in their recipient, but also a serious ethical offence. The sanctity of the idea of intellectual property online and of the excerpt from at least one printed story from the erotica series, protected by copyright laws, not to mention the integrity of what I have been doing here that should really go without saying, have been pissed over.

 

The whole point of the Hidden Treasures Project was to induce joy and simple pleasure, and to try to destigmatize erotic writing from what it still means to so many. It makes me sick that even the shortest of passages from this project, something that has been, and is, precious and important to me, and, due to the worldwide pandemic and lockdown, is still in its infancy, has been used in such a way that is the total polar opposite of what I was trying to accomplish. It makes me sick that this project, and the stories that have a great meaning to me personally, have been used as an instrument of pain.

 

I would like to thank the party that, regardless of their fear of personal vendetta from their tormentor, came forward with this information. This was a lovely, brave, nothing short of a heroic thing to do. The sheer show of honesty and backbone with this coming forward, which could not have been easy, left me incredibly impressed, and I, along with the whole writing community, am in your debt.

 

All we have in this life are our contacts, and our ability to make contact with others. We have our inner circle, the family and close friends. Then, the contacts. My family and friends know that I make contact easily, and with an open heart. This sensitivity has also sometimes steered me wrong. The contact I make with whoever is out there, reading these words, is important and personal and sacrosanct, and exists on a baseline of mutual understanding on how things work. 

I have met some truly outstanding, fantastic people because of this tendency to put myself in the line of fire, some of whom have been my lovers or my best friends in life, some of whom have turned into my significant others, and some, like those of you who made my soul ache with your heartfelt messages of both praise, and sympathy, during this past week, have become echoes and harbingers of good feeling and brought along with you a simple, beautiful vibe of belonging to something larger than myself, some world-wide community of contact, by writing.

Sincerity and faith turned sour, trust shot to shit. My heart is kind of broken. 

Also, you petty little thief, whoever you are, if I ever see you in the real world on the street and recognize you, and I might I'm very intuitive, in the words of the musical genius Labrinth, Mount Everest ain't got shit on me. We'll just see who has the sharper pen and the larger cojones.

Also, fuck you.

But let's not let this stupidity ruin things for the rest of us. Mrs. Dalloway would not be defeated, nor will I.