The Problem of Perfection

I’ve been hurled into a frenzy of thought by the revelation of the cover of my favourite band’s next single:

 

My initial thought was its interesting subtext. Of how it implies that perfection doesn’t entail beauty. And I still think it’s an amazing idea and an interesting sentence to have on the cover: it challenges the orthodox view of perfection. The orthodox view being that: amongst all the qualities that a perfect thing might have, beauty must be there. This cover states: a perfect thing doesn’t need beauty to be perfect.

Now, that’s great and slightly inspirational if you halt at that point.

However, in my consideration, I didn’t stop there. It made me think of what perfection actually is and whether it can exist.

When I think of “perfect”, the definition that comes to mind is: consistently having every favourable attribute imaginable.

So let’s consider Mr X and Mr Y. 

Mr X’s perfect lady is flawless in beauty and likes everything that he likes and to him has absolutely no imperfection.

Mr Y’s perfect lady must have flaws because otherwise, to him, she is cold and unreal. Mr Y’s perfect lady doesn’t need to be beautiful - that is immaterial. Mr Y’s perfect lady has all the right cons and all the right pros - a balance so right that it creates perfection to him.

To Mr X, Mr Y’s perfect lady has far too many imperfections and he detests her. To Mr Y, Mr X’s perfect lady isn’t perfect at all because he doesn’t think like Mr X and therefore barely gets along with his perfect lady.

Now, what we’ve got here is perfect being both perfect and imperfect at the exact same time. That is: P does not equal P. 

If then, perfect is not consistent, if one perfect clashes directly with another perfect, then is there any need for the constant search for it? Perfection as “consistently having all the favourable attributes imaginable” doesn’t exist, so what is the use in chasing something non-existent? You can’t try to be perfect because in doing so, you will never be happy. Pleasing everybody is an impossible action - that would only be realistic in a world wherein everybody was the same. And that’s not the case, nor would I like it to be the case. Things would be rather boring, then.

It seems that, although sometimes I forget, I have to remember that perfect is nothing and therefore nothing is perfect. Everything is imperfect - perfect lacks true meaning - and so no one thing is truly better than another. There is no agreeable scale. One can only act as one believes one should in order to exact desirable outcomes.

I don’t know what world I’m painting out with these revelations, but I’m getting closer to an understanding of how to be. And the problem of perfection seems to spiral back to the old adage of being yourself. But I think a better adage might be: be a self that makes you happy, despite external scrutiny.

It’s getting late. I’ll clock off now. 

The Internet is a Drug.

I've come to the conclusion that the internet works much like a hallucinogenic drug. What it does is: it simulates real life to trick you into thinking you are living, when in reality you're not. All you're doing is wasting your time, staring at a screen and not doing much at all. You're achieving nothing but the second-hand experiences of other people - and, although that is an experience in itself, it does not compare to you having gone out and lived yourself.

Take Facebook, for example, or some form of instant messenger. You are deluded by the Internet Drug into thinking that you are living and are doing something productive because, well, essentially you are speaking to people, you are communicating - you can see their photos and you can gather a sense of them from the tone of their writing. But take a step back and consider the reality of it.

The truth of it is that nobody can convey the true essence of exactly who they are on the computer/ in writing; there always lacks a certain aspect of their character or, in some cases, the quality of not being in-person completely changes their character. I suppose it's because body language is an intimate part of communication that is lost in virtual discourse - body language, whether we can consciously identify it or not, adds to the experience of speaking to somebody. It makes it more real - it adds so many more emotions lost in virtual discourse; in Real Life, we become more vividly flustered, more embarrassed at mistakes, more satisfied when a point is fluently composed, things are more interesting when we can see we've affected our interlocutor in some way. These are all things I welcome in a life wherein our time is limited and we must experience as much as possible. However, the veil of virtuality always takes away this raw essence from us! but by diluting the emotions, by dimming the rawness, it gives us confidence to speak out; it allows us to convey who we would like to be more precisely. That's the effect of the Internet Drug. By removing raw emotion, raw experience, it gives us strength and confidence. It allows us to be who we would like to be, but takes away from us who we are. And as you can tell, from previous posts, I'm an advocate of the truth and of experience, so - although, at first, the internet draws me in, on consideration - the idea repulses me.

We look at the pictures of others on the internet, we hear the anecdotes of others on the internet - it all accumulates and convinces us that we are living. It is not living. I can't stress that enough. The internet is a facsimile of real life wherein power and confidence is granted, but wherein the rawness of Real Life is detracted.  I would rather throw myself out into Real Life, powerless and without confidence, but slowly build it up with the raw materials I'm handed than to sit behind the artificial light of a screen, perusing the virtual world with my makeshift personality, "happy" as my body rots away.

Then the question is: how do we wean ourselves off this drug? How do we become clean? The only answer is to live. To go out and experience. It's a hard task because when we step away from the world the Internet Drug has provided us with, the rawness of Real Life bombards us, like a powerful ray of sunshine illuminating one who has emerged from his cave, and we almost want to cower and run back. But if we take a moment, and venture from our caves, we notice a world more beautiful. We can begin to add meaning to our lives.

And that's all we can do. There is no intrinsic meaning to life - life is a blank canvas; we enter like clueless artists, we use everything around us as our teacher, and only then do we paint with bright and vivid colours our own meanings. We create our own masterpieces. As far as I can see, the Internet Drug can only ruin that.

Live.

---------------------------------------------------

P.S. I'm not deluded enough to claim no benefits come from the internet at all - the point of this blog post is only to attack the internet becoming a lifestyle. The internet is another experience that we should partake in, but it most definitely should never become our primary activity.

On Experience

Let's begin by making plain the obvious: we only have a short time to live on this earth.

Every single one of us - me, Tom, Dick, and Harry; even you, you, the very reader of this blog - is going to die. There will come a day when we cease to exist in the knowledge of all those living - beyond that, who knows what happens? Perhaps we lose all recollection and become reborn, perhaps we simply enter oblivion, and cease to exist period. This, although interesting and frightening, is unimportant. The essential piece of knowledge is that we happen to have embodied a vessel that can express and experience many a fantastic emotion - we luckily became an animal that rules the world, that has a cognitive ability that far surpasses that of all other creatures here on earth.

No, I'm not going to tell you we should be grateful, I'm not about to preach, all I'm going to say is that we're lucky. We have this vast ability and this precious opportunity to experience the most interesting things, emotionally, physically, and what I propose with this blog post is that we take it.

Previous blog posts have exposed my naturally neurotic self - I'm not going to deny that, but now I think, perhaps, it isn't such an awful thing for others to misunderstand us. In fact, now I might suggest it is a vital experience for others to misunderstand us. One who first misunderstands is most likely to better understand later, for they have had the experience.

We've got a limited time in this world, and there is too much to experience - more than we ever will be able to - but we must experience as much of it as possible to fulfil our lives. We must engage in conversation with that girl who catches our attention - sure, we might horribly embarrass ourselves or might become devastated at the realisation that she won't ever love us, but it is another experience, one of the many that we must hungrily devour (for it will help us become stronger and our time is short); we must travel and experience new sensations, new cultures, many other interesting people that inhabit the world with us; we must tackle the mundane, partake in a job uninteresting to us, so that we absorb that experience also; but we must also chase our dreams as though our lives depend on it, because although there are many things to experience - all, I'd argue, as important as the other - what enjoyment can we take from life if we haven't experienced the one we most desired, our utmost goal?

I guess what I'm trying to say here is that: there is no bad, there is no embarrassing, there is no awkward, there is no objectively good, either - there are just a multitude of experiences, each as important as the other, each which we should perceive in a different manner from our fixed mental state of "good" and "bad".

What am I actually saying, you ask? Well, do something tomorrow that you always wanted to do but have perhaps put off when considering the consequences as bad. Instead, perceive the consequence as an important experience - be it your desired outcome or not - and just move on. We honestly don't have time to sit and worry and avoid doing due to fear.

Quit your job! Ask out that girl! Gather your money and move away! Approach that guy you think you might get on well with! Just do!

Experience! It's all we have.

And then we die.

Tired ramblings on Emotional Vanity, fit with abrupt ending.

I write this with that tangible feeling of sleep that surrounds the bottom of your eyes, like heavy fog. What I'm trying to say is: I'm tired. So if this is slightly disconnected or overly fluffy or just crap, that's why. But I haven't written a blog post in a while, and I do have something to say.

It's gotten to a point where I can't stand myself any more. I want to pause and consider myself. I'm still in the early stages of sixth form college, so in a way there is still possibility for me to recreate myself, but I hesitate at that idea. Why do I hesitate? I don't exactly disdain the character that I am; this isn't about self-hate. No, I like the person that I really am - I like this inner-me, so to speak, but it's difficult to reach him.

There are too many layers to me, layers of thought and care, that seriously need to be stripped back so my inner-self can become my prominent self. Let's make the distinction: the outer-me cares too much about the relation of himself to other people. That's his main problem. He cares about what people think of him; he cares about people liking him; he cares, generally, about making a good impression. This seems all good and well on the surface of things, but it isn't. It's - as Wittgenstein saw it, and as I agree - a horrid vanity. It's difficult to get over it, though. Caring too much about what people think of me makes it harder to interact with Truth; it makes it harder to be myself - I... It makes me lack confidence; it makes me shy - it makes me almost useless. As I see it, it creates empty connections with people - empty, hollow connections. Connections based on the fact that I want you to like me, so I've acted a certain way for that to happen. As opposed to: I've been myself and you've liked me, so we have a meaningful relation.

The problem is it takes a great courage - one that, perhaps, I don't have - to be yourself and to completely disregard what people might think of you. The light at the end of the tunnel in this scenario is the fact that you'll gain meaningful relationships as opposed to hollow relationships based on somebody who isn't truly you, but there is a risk... What if nobody likes the real you? How does one deal with being completely alone?

Realistically, I believe there would be at least one person who likes me - the real me, the me this blog sees - but it's a worry to me that people may not understand it... Perhaps they would like me and potentially a meaningful connection could be formed, but if I mis-present the real me, they won't get it, and that potential will be lost. But then, ah, aren't I now thinking too much about how to present myself - aren't I now being horridly vain?

It seems that vanity can, with near-certainty, bring about vapid relationships,
but only truth can, with almost no certainty, bring about meaningful connections.

There seems to be one imperative thing I need to learn, it seems, before I can form any new meaningful connections. That imperative thing being: I need to learn how to deal with being alone. Ah, but then that is counter-productive ... If I can deal with being alone, then what need is there for me to gain any meaningful connections? There would be none. Besides, I can't deal with being alone.

I just need to believe in truth. I can't change myself - more specifically, what I do is dilute myself so I'm, on first impression, more agreeable - if I'm to make meaningful connections. There can't be any dilution.

I need to drop my emotional vanity.

Confidence / La Confianza / Confiance

...no proud dreams and no proud lusts; and a man who hasn't one or the other - Lord! What is he but funk and precautions?

- War of the World, H.G. Wells

As ever, the presence of this blog post signifies that I've been thinking about something lately. This might have something to do with my starting a new college in September, but I think it can be applied to Life in general.

It's occurred to me that a problem of mine in the past has been a lack of confidence, or conviction in myself. And I've noticed this sort of mind frame can terribly cripple you before you even set out on doing anything.

I think sometimes I've feared confidence for a number of reasons; for one, there is the fear of coming across as arrogant or cocky - these are two unappealing traits, and unfortunately I've been cursed with caring too much about what people think. (Though if I follow my rules, perhaps I'll get over this.) Secondly, it's that fear of failure or rejection. If one puts the effort of being confident into anything, it only feels to me as though when you fail, the crash will only come harder. But this is selfish talk. Why must I be so self-centred?

No, confidence is incredibly important. Confidence is the thing that separates the hopeless from the optimistic. And it's absolutely necessary. It's become apparent to me that confidence constitutes courage, and courage, bravery, is the sole fuel that allows you to reach for your dreams. With courage comes determination, and everyone knows that a determined person is twice as likely to succeed than a half-arsed one. But courage can't be achieved without some iota of confidence.

So I've decided, if I'm ever going to succeed in anything - relationships, dreams, etc. - I'm going to have to acquire a sense of confidence. I'm going to have to learn how to feign confidence, even when I lack it, because, to the on-looker, the most confident always looks the most apt. It doesn't matter what insecurities I have - it truly doesn't - I'll have to look past those and assume that I'm capable.

It's confidence and it's what, I believe, the best are made out of.

And if I fail? Well, I'll have to learn. Learn like children do when they fall and scrape their knees. They could cry and cry and cry, but what is it that their parents tell them? "Upsie-daisy" - it's simple: we have to get up.

Gain a sense of confidence, and assume that I'm capable.

Will this make me arrogant? Should I care, or is that selfish? I don't know, but right now, I'm convinced.

Gain a sense of confidence, and assume my capability.
Gain a sense of confidence, and assume my capability.
Gain a sense of confidence, and assume my capability.

And if it fails? Get up and move on (/try again).

This end marks a new beginning.

After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. ~J.K. Rowling, "The Man with Two Faces," Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, 1997, spoken by the character Albus Dumbledore

No one has died, but an era has ended. It's just past midnight, so it's now officially a new day, so I must phrase this differently. Yesterday was my very last day of secondary school. It's finished now, kaput, over. As far as I'm concerned, according to the law as of now, I'm legally allowed to never return to higher education. (Of course I will, but that's not the point; the point is it's over.)

A flurry of different emotions have tackled me today. From the morning, I felt excited to see everybody again for our Leavers' Assembly. Our pen-ultimate goodbye. Our farewell to ever wearing school uniform again. Seeing all the people who had had their last exam the week before and were technically finished then. Let's put it this way: I didn't have to be dragged out of bed this morning. Excitement.

Directly after the assembly came Stage I of the impending sense of 'End'. We all loitered about the school gates, supposedly all feeling this sensation. There were signings of shirts; there were hugs, emotional exchanges. It came to a point where a teacher of ours had to command us to, "Dissipate! Go home! You're finally free and now you won't leave?" But I didn't want to. I'm going to see them all again on Friday particularly, but this is the last time we're in uniform. There was a somewhat irrational uncertainty in the air.

After this, we went to my friend's house to chill for a bit. There's absolutely no way we could just leave for home now - how anti-climatic would that be? A complete destroyer of the day, an absolute downer. We had to do one last thing. We stayed at this friend's house from midday to roughly six PM. During this, the sense of 'End' slept for a while; we lost ourselves in our friendship, becoming quixotic in our beliefs of unity. We'll always keep in touch. We're us.

And so came the time to leave said friend's house. Initiate Stage II of the impending sense of 'End'. The amount of bodies present was significantly lower; it felt more tight-knit - Stage II was an intensified version of Stage I. (I predict Friday, the night of Prom, will harbour Stage III - the most intense stage of all). I didn't want to leave; we sat, stood, chatted in the streets for another hour until it was getting ridiculous. We had to part.

This is getting too long for myself now, so I'm going to fast-forward to an argument I had with a friend via IM. They (I'm using 'they' for the sake of protecting the gender) made me feel as though I wasn't their friend at all, and they lacked any sort of remorse ... Never able to admit they're in the wrong; they threw the day into a completely different perspective for me.

It got me thinking about how our journey has been like a hike and now we're approaching a precipice, a cliff. Those who are staying at the school for sixth-form are like those who turn from the cliff and search for a different way forward. Those of us who are moving, going to different schools/colleges to embark on our A Levels, are like those with wings, flying from the precipice. With my friend's annoying argument, it reminded me of why I'm leaving. I'm off to fly, to start afresh. Perhaps I'm slightly annoyed now and I feel as though I want to soar away and never look back, but when I calm, I know I won't want to completely sever contact. But the point is, I'm still flying away. And I love it.

The argument reminded me of what I love so much about life: the duality of it all. As they say, only a light can cast a shadow; so upon the arrival of shadow, one knows nearby there is light. And this is what I've found. My close friend made me feel as though our relationship is shit, but it only opened my eyes to the future ahead. The future, it's mine. I will hopefully make fantastic friends. Don't get me wrong, I love my friends now, but perhaps I will have friends that are constantly there for me, so I can constantly be there for them. Perhaps I'm asking too much of today's youth with this, but I just want a good old fashioned friendship.

This End seems dark, yet I can't help but descry the light in the distance.

I love life.

El pasado

El pasado me ha visitado hoy.

No me gusta escribir todos los días. Pienso que terminaré.

2 Golden Rules to Conversation

Agh, there's another thing on my mind and this is the Art of Conversation.

What? I hear you ask. There's an art to it? Don't you just, kinda, speak to people?

Well, I don't know. And that's my problem. If it was that easy, I wouldn't have a problem. I've found that when it comes to chatting online, via instant messenger or what have you, it's very easy - most probably because I'm in the field of communication in which I'm most comfortable*: writing. Unfortunately, to live a happy life, I don't think I can go by solely writing to people. That distance would depress me, surely. Anyway, my problem is that, when it comes to "real life", I can't for the life of me think of what to say to people, which promptly invites those Awkward Silences that wait patiently in the shadows to come and ruin the atmosphere.

I mean, this is just another impromptu blog post, but some stuff from Will Grayson, Will Grayson got me thinking on how to become a better communicator. There's basically this character (Will Grayson) who believes that the 2 golden rules in life are to: 1) Shut up and 2) not care. Will is proved pretty much completely wrong, but if we tweaked those rules slightly, perhaps I'd get the 2 Golden Rules to the Art of Conversation? I'm not saying that this works, as I've just made it up right now, but I don't want to be one of those people who can't hold a conversation unless it's random and meaningless.

So in an attempt to better myself at communication, I will write myself a letter, prescribing my own advice.

Dear me, do refer back to this letter whenever you are in doubt,

Rule 1: Speak your mind; tell the truth. Avoid concealing emotions simply to save yourself. This is selfish. By hiding yourself and your emotions, you are hiding your personality and that way nobody can really know you.

I mean, this is probably why it's so much easier to speak on IMs/in writing. You don't have to confront their facial expressions and worry about if they care about what you're saying because they are behind the Veil of Virtuality, as are you. You can say what you want because the Veil gives you instances of unparalleled confidence. This is bad; it's like a drug. You will keep returning to this drug for that confidence and you will avoid Real Life because - there - the confidence is harder to attain. However, try. Follow Rule 1.

As this is inspired by Will Grayson, Will Grayson I feel compelled to retrieve a quote that backs up what I'm saying.

"So I just say what I'm thinking. "I know it sucks, but in a way, it's good." He looks at me like I've just said something absolutely idiotic, which of course I have. "Love and truth being tied together, I mean. They make each other possible, you know?" "

Rule 2: Don't care all the time; don't let it control you. Now, of course caring is important, otherwise whatever you spew will be robotic crap said only to serve the purpose of making conversation. By this, I don't mean it like Will did. I mean, don't over-care about what the other person thinks about you - unless he's, like, your employer and you're in an interview or something. You're allowed to care then, but otherwise, relax. Rule 1 works in tandem with this rule. So long as you can try to not give a fuck for a bit, you can more easily speak your mind and tell the truth.

Another Will Grayson, Will Grayson quote:

" "The idea is that for ten minutes, we forget that we have feelings. And we forget about protecting ourselves or other people and we just say the truth. For ten minutes. And then we can go back to being lame." "

This one is sort of the perfect conclusion, because it incorporates both Rules. But here's the thing, in those ten minutes, Will becomes an apparently different person by removing those barricades - it becomes about raw communication. By doing this, the girl he likes is shocked into saying, "Can you be like this permanently?"

I'm not saying you shouldn't care permanently - no, that's reckless and a lot of people will just want to stop speaking to you - but just care less about yourself.

Now, I know this is a class example of it being "easier said than done", but try. Try to follow these rules and see where they get you. If they don't work, we'll change them later.

Yours truly (no, truly truly, I actually am yours as you are mine),

You.

P.S.

Lo siento. No es posible que habría podido escribir este en español - es demasiado complicado. :) Sin embargo, todavía escribí un poco hoy, en español, así que ... sí :)

*This isn't the right word. It's not that I'm not comfortable communicating in other ways; it's just that I communicate best when I write.

Voy a escribir un "blog post" cada día hasta mi examen en español :)

¡Hola!,

Pues, este es ... diferente, ¿no? Sé que no voy a poder escribir tan bien como puedo en inglés, pero debo intentarlo porque tengo un examen en el que tendré que escribir en español pronto.

Erm, es difícil, también, jaja. Tengo un examen de la educación religioso mañana. Debería fácil como todo necesito saber es la diferencia entre 'correcto' y 'mal' y un poco factos de Cristianismo y Sikhismo.

Vale, estoy tomando demasiado tiempo para escribir este así que voy a terminar.

Eso era patético, pero "Oh well!" jaja. Adiós :)

Anne Frank

You know a book's good when after you're done with it you stop and just think about it or - in my case - you're tempted to search the title up in Google to see what everybody else thought of it too. Another sign is if the book made you think while reading it. By this, I don't mean it has to be extremely challenging, all I mean is that it has to stimulate the mind and make you consider things.

The Diary of a Young Girl definitely did all these for me. It's honestly fantastic - she was a phenomenal writer and it makes you sad when you think of her fate. Sometimes it's hard to imagine such a bright and intelligent, bursting-with-hope character confined in one of those ridiculously horrible concentration camps, but I guess the diary's an icon of those times and a warning of sorts for the future. A warning not to let history repeat itself.

Anne Frank's diary is also, however, an honest-to-God documentation of a teenager's mind: the struggles with pretty much everything the world throws at them, getting used to this (actually, pretty awesome) place we all learn to call home. She seems to represent the typical teenager in a fantastically articulate fashion, yet she also seems to transcend mere adolescence in her thoughts and attitudes. To me, if I met a girl similar to how she was, now, I know I'd fall in love.

From everything: the imagery of having more than one persona, to seeing nature as a beacon of hope, her need for someone to confide in, and her passions/curiosities - she truly seems to have been ... I don't know... someone with potential? Someone who definitely would have followed their dreams and most probably have succeeded. The former, that quality, makes me happy. I hope I'll retain that same quality as I grow and chase all my dreams. I think Anne said it best,

“ I don't want to have lived in vain like most people. I want to be useful or bring enjoyment to all people , even those I've never met. I want to go on living even after my death!
”

There are so many other awesome things she wrote, too, but if I wrote them all out, you might as well have just bought the book.

I mean, that's not to say that there aren't some boring, list-y parts about the general goings-on of the Secret Annexe or whatever, but it's a diary, what d'you expect?

Anyway, I just really enjoyed reading it and thought I'd definitely write a post about it, what with the resuscitation of my blog and all. Now, however, onto Will Grayson, Will Grayson which I've been dying to read for ages now!

Until next time!

A Future Complex

Hello,

I'm going to open this with reference to the previous post, stating that the blog will be "on indefinite hold" - or something like that. Well, scrap that. The life of blogging has allured me once more and, hey, why shouldn't I give it another crack?

(Why? You have nothing interesting to say? Nobody cares anyway? Hey, you, shut up.)

Like always, I've had a few things on my mind recently, but my largest revelation is that I have a Future Complex. By which I mean to say, like those who have superiority complexes are obsessed with their own superiority, I am obsessed with my future. At the age of 11, I knew unchangeably what continent I would live in when I was older. This hasn't changed. Though I've always been inclined towards it, by 13/14 I knew that writing would have to be a part of my profession. By 15, I had already chosen 2 potential universities that I wanted to go to. Now, at 16, I've decided more exactly what area of the aforementioned continent I want to live on.

However, none of this worries me. Imagining, thinking, dreaming - they're all parts of me that I don't wish to banish any time soon. (Though sometimes those qualities are unfortunate - say, when you're a pensive pre-teen who continuously thinks about what happens after death and scares himself into almost-sleepless nights.) However, I do wonder if I take it too far when - being only 16 - I think of what I want to do when I'm old and grey and have retired. I've been thinking about where I'll live, what I'll do to pass the time, whether I'll have the fortune of being able, actually, to continue my job (as I doubt it will be labour intensive).

I've just about managed to stop myself from thinking too thoroughly about what happens after we die, and now I'm on old age? I do have issues. All the same, these attributes are me and I quite like my mental time-travelling journeys. I think it has much to do with my age - the typical Bildungsroman age, finding yourself, etc. - but I can't wait till the future. What will it be like? Can I live up to my imagination? I hope so. I'm not too quixotic.

That's my return to blogging, though. Now to go and do some outstanding things that affect my present, like: watch 90210 and then finish The Diary of Anne Frank so I can get started on Will Grayson, Will Grayson by David Levithan & my favourite author.

Tried.

I've tried and I've tried and I've tried and not once has it been a success. This blog is doomed to failure, until perhaps I have a more interesting life. Perhaps I'm ingloriously vain, but it will also probably do to have some sort of follower. If I wanted a diary, I'd buy a diary and write in that.


For now, however, being my uninteresting self, I'll put this blog on indefinite hiatus.


Goodbye, loyal followers of Imaginariesvilles.