Hi, since I’m getting e-mails about my work that was used in the Isaac Caret HOAX, I’ve decided to write this to provide quick information that I can link to on my Twitter.
First and foremost, I am busy pretty much 24/7 for the foreseeable future. Factor that in to the equation. Not to be rude, but unless you’re paying something more sustainable than a hundred dollars a day, I’m not going to be able to help you with your personal projects. I am not being mean: I’m just saying, my time is limited.
Outside of paid work, when it comes to unpaid, if you’re some sort of journalist or writer and you’re interested in some aspect of my work, this or my books, then send me an e-mail (icze4r @ gmail dot com) and I’ll see what I can do. This UFO / space alien shit is getting pretty crazy, and I can find the time to inform someone, if they’re willing to attribute me. Don’t contact me if you’re not willing to give me credit. Journalists, in the past, have asked to use my work without attribution, and some have. I’m not going to talk ethics at you, but, that’s a no-no. Do not contact me also if you’re going to pretend you’re not a journalist.
People occasionally send in fan mail. I read everything, which sounds like bullshit, but I do. I may or may not choose to respond. I will not respond if I think that the person trying to communicate with me is mentally impaired or underage. This comes with the territory, due to it both being the Internet, and me being an ‘Experiencer’ (I hate that term). I did, in fact, get abducted by aliens. I do, in fact, realize what that used to sound like, and I also have very quickly realized that I am surrounded by people who are not mentally well. I would prefer to not communicate with people like that, for fear of making their mental illness(es) worse.
Thank you for understanding, and have a great day! c(◕ᴗ◕✿)
So you’ve probably noticed a change in my personality.
It’s not, really. This is what I used to be like.
After a quarter of a century of trying to be someone I’m not— after helping people, raising 5+ million for random assholes on the Internet, and being as giving and caring as I could be— it came to me, upon a midnight clear, that I would be alone at the end of this.
I surrounded myself with people who clung to me, selfishly, and they required far too much upkeep from me to keep them sane. Energy vampires. And they gave nothing, and they did nothing for me. They didn’t even act as my friends: they were just… there. Taking up my energy.
And they kept sending me porn I didn’t wanna look at.
I started to get sickened. You tell them to stop; they only stop for a little while.
And then there were people who didn’t even really see me as being a person. There was a white guy, who, once, when I was talking about how racist white people had abused me, he decided to stick up for the white race.
Oopsy-daisy. Once I see the real you, that’s it.
I’m not naming names, because I don’t want to hurt people’s feelings, or make them feel scared. I just want to tell you why.
Let me tell you the story of why this happened.
The night my Mom almost died
When it comes to my family relations, you’ve heard the in’s and the out’s of them. My father beat me nearly to death when I was about 4 or 5. My mother protected me. But, we’ve had our back-and-forth’s, and I’ve had moments where I didn’t understand my mother, and she might not have understood me.
But then, she got cancer. Stage II, Multiple Myeloma. And my world began to change.
And then, after a Zometa treatment, she got sepsis. (The doctor says that Zometa couldn’t have caused it. Me, I’m the one who had to see her like that; I will forever tell her never to take Zometa again.)
In the middle of the night, not knowing who to talk to, not feeling any real connection between my other family members, I reached out to my online friends. I started to say things to people.
And I said things to a few people in private, and, one of them just said something like, “yeah, RIP”.
I said, ‘my mother might have sepsis’
And they just went, ‘yeah, RIP.’
I’ve told my mother about what they said. And my mother, God bless her, gave all sorts of excuses: that my friend didn’t know what to say; that they lacked the appropriate amount of tact; and so on, and so forth.
But the reality was, my friends knew what to say.
Comfort. Actual comfort.
Somebody who actually gave a shit about me.
I learned who my friends were, at that point.
In the middle of the night, when my mother’s lactic acid rose and she had to be super-hydrated in order to survive,
I suddenly realized that I didn’t actually like many people on here.
What’s the point of this?
I’ve been shadowbanned on Twitter, and banned from ever being Verified, ever since I defended an acquaintance from a dude who was perving on her. I’ve caused so much trouble online that it’s kind of funny.
I don’t… care anymore. I can bypass every ban; get around every shadowban; penetrate the Heavens; and it doesn’t matter.
None of this matters.
When I thought that my mother was going to die, it put everything into perspective for me.
People on here tried to control me. They tried to fuck with my brain. They tried to make me think I was stupid; that I was wrong; that I was narcissistic (in actuality, I have such a problem giving a shit about myself that, only recently, did I even try to start taking care of my own health); and so on, and so forth.
Last year, in February, when the ‘Chinese balloon’ was over that nuclear base, the world began to change for me. And I’ve accomplished things that I never dreamed could have even been possible.
I liked fucking around on the Internet. I was filled with a deep and horrific sense of dread, though, that I was wasting my time.
And I was.
And I was.
And so are all of you.
Where I go from here
I have something I have to do.
I have a lot of something’s that I have to do.
My mother’s fine. She’s going to live for a long time. I thank my real friends for donating to help her, and I am sorry that it had to come to this. I feel terrible that I even had to ask.
Now, though… I have a purpose. And I have things that I must do.
And I am falling away from this. I can feel it. I am drifting away from the Internet; and, one day, pretty soon? I don’t think I’m going to be able to stomach it.
For it is a silly place. Filled with horrible e-celebs, fashioning themselves in the image of whatever they thought I was; trying to provoke the anger of idiots and morons, all towards effecting a future that truly does not matter.
I think my Fear of Missing Out died when Twitter became even more of a ghost town than it had been before. I don’t feel like… saying anything on Twitter anymore, has any real effect.
I’ll keep it, to talk to my friends.
But I’m not going to pretend like I don’t think that everything is over. For it truly is.
In happier news, I’ve concoted a plan to have my mother retired in record time. So far, it’s going well. And, after that?
One day, you will see me on TV, giving that speech.
But this is it, Luigi.
The Internet’s dead, and its rotten corpse is filled with assholes. And there is no more fun here to be had.
It won’t even be fun to cause trouble after First Contact. Because, I mean— when I’m sitting in a Castle, fucking tweeting isn’t going to be on my top 10, or even top 1000 of shit I’d want to do.
I bet Twitter won’t even fucking survive that long.
~See you Starside! Margaret Gel (icze4r/TheBattleAngel) May 14th, 1994 — September 22nd, 2024 (11,089 days on the Internet) (That’s Internet tenure. I’m not dead. And I’ll be back, but, y’know.)
Post-Script
I want to point out something, because I’m going to write something a little more involved at some point, talking about all the good things I experienced online. (Super Junkoid was really cool! (◕ᴗ◕✿))
The Internet was only good when both my parents were alive. Because— I could have fun, and then tell them about my exploits. I wanted to be entertaining.
On that night, when I thought my mother was going to die?
I have never felt so alone.
I don’t think I’ll be using the Internet as much, when the day finally comes that she passes on. I don’t think my heart could bear it; this place has been soaked with so many memories of shit that my parents were doing, at the time, that I think, at that time, I’m going to have to truly leave it.
The other thing was, I wanted to use the Internet as a way to disseminate information about space aliens. About the people who raised me. And, the reality is, there is nothing left to do. You all know.
There’s nothing more I can do.
You’ll see them soon enough.
My mother might live 10 more years. 20; or 30. But the reality is, she is old now. And I want to spend a lot of time with her; and I want to spend no time with people who only glommed onto me because they wanted comfort, selfishly.
I love my friends.
I have about five of them.
And that’s all.
An Explanation
After thinking about this for a while, I’ve come up with a better way to explain this.
After 11,089 days on the Internet— a little over 30 years— and with my father already gone, I have realized that, as much as I was trying to figure out my own emotions, as much as I was flailing, there are important things that need to be done, right now, and I don’t want to go to the end of this and realize that I haven’t spent enough time with my mom.
I spent all the time I could with my dad, and even though it feels like I did all I could, I don’t know. I don’t know. I had all the time in the world with my dad, and that’s all I wanted. But…
… this is the best way I can explain:
At the end of this, I don’t want to come up for air after I see my mother die, and have someone in my DMs telling me, ‘yeah, RIP’.
