IC Character Journal for Mayfield
Aug. 30th, 2030 02:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ceasetoexistHey. This is a stupid little project of mine, I guess, to continue to work on Pokey's voice. Considering he's been in Mayfield for a bit over a year, he's decided to write down some of his experiences, both past and present, on an on-again off-again basis. Doing this is meant to help keep me in his mindset, as well as provide a better look at the way Pokey thinks, especially after the amount of development he's gone through in Mayfield.
Anyway, there'll hardly be a consistent update to this journal. It's for fun, and I may drop it at anytime. But I'll see where it goes.
8/30/195X:
This is stupid. I mean the fact that I’m bothering to write this, not the typewriter. Though hey you know what? For good measure, the typewriter is pretty stupid too. It’s big and dumb and loud in comparison to a computer. Though hey. Gotta admit it looks kinda cool in its own stupid way. And the way the keys clack is kinda neat.
Oh right. I’m getting off track as to why I’m actually writing this stupid thing. Though even I’m not really sure why I’m being dumb enough to do it. I guess I’m getting carried away after having drank that stupid milk a few weeks ago. I just started writing down names. Of the people I could remember had been here, and weren’t anymore. I mean, I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me how many I wrote down. People come and go in this stupid hole all the time. And I want to say I don’t care. But I can’t say that anymore. Well, not here I guess. I can still say it in the open. But it’s dumb. There’s a difference between telling people that, and telling myself it. And I can’t tell myself it.
Yada yada yada I should probably just keep going yada yada yada I wonder how many times I can just type that without getting bored
Yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada
Okay I’m bored. Incredible experiment, the experiment is now over.
So anyway I guess what bothered me wasn’t how many people were on the list, but how many I didn’t even remember until I started writing. It was weird, like some stupid chamber in my brain just opened up and decided to barf everything it was holding in it on to the floor so I could rummage around through it and see what I could find. Not that I’d rummage through barf. I mean, if I could maybe scoop up some with something and put it in a bag to throw at someone, but I wouldn’t just rummage through it why am I defending myself to a piece of paper okay let’s keep going now I need to quit this and stay on topic.
So any I realized how many people I’d forgotten. And while I wanted to say I didn’t give a crap? I do. And I feltbad inconsiderate horrible I don’t know about forgetting some of them. And I guess I decided I needed to write about it. About what’d happened to me here so I don’t forget anymore. There are things too important to forget, and I don’t know if I’m forgetting just because of being forgetful, or if it’s another effect of screwing with time-space, or what. If it’s the latter, I should probably make sure I have some kind of record of what’s happened here.
They don’t deserve to be I guess I kind of owe them It’ll work as a record for anyone else who might find it if I get permadroned in this dump. So they at least know some of the weird crap that’d gone on here before they arrived, and about some of the people here because they ought so they know just how long it’s been going on and how many people this place has eaten up.
I’m going to stop typing now. It kind of sucks just looking at the page and I’m only typing stupid crap. I should probably just go to sleep.
I’ll see if I continue this later I guess.
9/11 Entry
9/16 entry
9/21 Entry
Anyway, there'll hardly be a consistent update to this journal. It's for fun, and I may drop it at anytime. But I'll see where it goes.
8/30/195X:
This is stupid. I mean the fact that I’m bothering to write this, not the typewriter. Though hey you know what? For good measure, the typewriter is pretty stupid too. It’s big and dumb and loud in comparison to a computer. Though hey. Gotta admit it looks kinda cool in its own stupid way. And the way the keys clack is kinda neat.
Oh right. I’m getting off track as to why I’m actually writing this stupid thing. Though even I’m not really sure why I’m being dumb enough to do it. I guess I’m getting carried away after having drank that stupid milk a few weeks ago. I just started writing down names. Of the people I could remember had been here, and weren’t anymore. I mean, I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me how many I wrote down. People come and go in this stupid hole all the time. And I want to say I don’t care. But I can’t say that anymore. Well, not here I guess. I can still say it in the open. But it’s dumb. There’s a difference between telling people that, and telling myself it. And I can’t tell myself it.
Yada yada yada I should probably just keep going yada yada yada I wonder how many times I can just type that without getting bored
Yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada yada
Okay I’m bored. Incredible experiment, the experiment is now over.
So anyway I guess what bothered me wasn’t how many people were on the list, but how many I didn’t even remember until I started writing. It was weird, like some stupid chamber in my brain just opened up and decided to barf everything it was holding in it on to the floor so I could rummage around through it and see what I could find. Not that I’d rummage through barf. I mean, if I could maybe scoop up some with something and put it in a bag to throw at someone, but I wouldn’t just rummage through it why am I defending myself to a piece of paper okay let’s keep going now I need to quit this and stay on topic.
So any I realized how many people I’d forgotten. And while I wanted to say I didn’t give a crap? I do. And I felt
I’m going to stop typing now. It kind of sucks just looking at the page and I’m only typing stupid crap. I should probably just go to sleep.
I’ll see if I continue this later I guess.
9/11 Entry
9/16 entry
9/21 Entry
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9/11/195X
Date: 2011-09-12 08:11 am (UTC)Today was stupid. School started back up, and it sucks, so what else is new. Apparently I'm considered a high schooler now since I would have had a birthday while I've been here, but you know. Guess it was too much for the town to actually make me look older or something too. I guess that's just too hard for it. They can say I've been here for a year sure, but make me look it? Naw.
I can't even remember when my birthday is. Isn't that funny. I mean I know I have one, right? I must have. I was born I didn't just start out time traveling in the void I
Okay stop.
So anyway the town jipped me. What else is new.
I was about to ask how did I get so bitter. I just sat here a full three minutes laughing at that.
So school sucked, didn't see Slugger so
that suckedso whatever. He's probably off messing around with his stupid little girlfriend or whatever. They're perfect for each other because they're perfectly creepyin how similar they are it's unreal.You know what? Tomorrow?
I'm going to do alternating colors on everyones lockers with paint. That's what I'm going to do. I'll add some color to this stupid dull place. Don't care if they like it or not. It's what I like that it's all about.
Eddie's question pissed me off today. That was a stupid question for an ethics class. "Do you have regrets?" Yeah, I got regrets. Everyone does. I wouldn't say that before but whatever yes I'm sorry I regret a lot of what I did and I'll probably regret a lot of what I'll eventually do. Maybe it's stupid to keep doing things I know are going to go bad in the end but I don't have a choice it's what I do but I'm trying I'm trying so hard and I just want them to be proud of me her to be proud of me someone to b
Tomorrow I'm going to put a strip of flypaper with tacks on it on Eddies chair. Then we'll see who asks stupid questions.
I should throw this sheet away. If I was smarter, I'd just destroy the typewriter and what little I've written altogether. But I can't. I want to keep going. I gotta. There's things I need to say and people I need to talk about and
Stupid.
Whatever.
I'm done for the night.
9/16/195X (2011)
Date: 2011-09-16 05:31 am (UTC)I have no clue why. I haven't even thought of that stupid frigging place, but there I was again. I guess I could question how well I actually remember it, but who really cares? I'm the only one here other than Ness who'd even know what it is, and it's not like a friggin' forest-swamp is anything to write home about.
But anyway, there I am again, and it's just as dark as ever. The stupid helicopter just crashed and I'm crawling out of the wreckage unharmed and
Unharmed
Well I mean I was hurt some. Not severely but some wasn't I? How'd I manage that? I'm an unlucky guy I'm the first person to admit that and yet I got out of a severe accident unhurt? That doesn't make sense. I guess Giygas could've been doing something to keep me from getting hurt but
I remember being in a lot of pain. And then I wasn't.
I don't know.
It doesn't matter. Keep going.
So I'm in the Deep Darkness, and it's deep and dark and swampy and yada yada yada. But there's...lights sometimes. So I go towards them.
And it's people. Not the Tenda, but people. And people I know. Know from Mayfield. Some are still here, some are gone, but it doesn't matter. They're people I know, and they're glowing. Like they're guiding me. Some of them even motion for me to come forward. So I move towards them.
One by one, the lights go out. Each person leaves. I say leaves because it's not like they just snap out of existence. It's like....the darkness there is a door, one I can't fully see, but one they can slip into whenever I get close enough. No. It's more like....some slip, but like they're being pulled. Pulled behind this bizarre door that they may not even know is there.
And in the end, I'm alone again, but I can see another light. Larger this time, and I know I'm near the end of the Deep Darkness. So I move.
And the exit closes off. Like a sheet or some bullcrap of darkness gets thrown over it. I keep moving anyway. And then I just...hit it. I hit the darkness, and I can't move forward. Which is bull, so I punched the darkness a few times because I
Well anyway punching the darkness doesn't work. So I decide to go the other way. After a few steps?
Resistance again.
And on and on and on. No matter what way I go, I feel resistance. And each time?
I can feel the "walls" starting to move. Move in.
And then I woke up from hyperventilation. Good times.
Why am I bothering with this? It's a stupid dream. Nothing even happened, and it's not like I tend to have good dreams anyway.
I'm not scared.
This isn't even what the friggin' journal was for. I was going to chronicle what happened, and the people I met. To see if I've actually figured out anything. So they aren't forgotten.
I'm not stalling.
I wonder if anyone else is up right now.
9/21/195X (2011)
Date: 2011-09-22 04:57 am (UTC)It's my fault.
I don't know what I expected to happen. Relief, I guess? I mean, once I actually started to admit things were my fault, that I was to blame for them? I'd feel better. Sort of, at least. Not like great or some bullcrap, but kinda like I'd somehow swallowed rocks, and now the rocks were out and gone. But right now? I still feel just empty. Maybe the difference is that I'd admit I was wrong out loud, but you can kiss my butt if you think I'm doing that right here and now in a crowded bunker. They don't need to know that. Only a few people do.
The person who needs to know it most of all, I can't really tell. I don't know if she'd fully understand anyway but
No. I guess I do know she would. After 400 years of pissing around in time, she'd understand the most. I guess that's funny, the thing that understands me the most, or knows me the best, is a mech.
It's funny. Still not laughing, cause it's a dumb joke. At my expense.
Still won't deny I deserve it.
I don't regret killing him either. Even if it ended up like this? Even if it could go on to end worse? Don't regret it.
And I could kill him for less reasons then he's even given me now. Maybe I will.
I don't want to involve Slugger. Slugger wants to get involved. But it's my problem, not his. And I'm
I'm scared. After seeing him just tear apart Josephine like that, I'm scared he'll actually kill
my friSlugger, despite the whole giant monster thing and the ring he apparently has now. I won't admit it to him, but yeah. That energy bullcrap? That is pretty cool. Wouldn't mind some of that.I guess I can do that here, huh? Actually write down things that I wouldn't say. That I like something, or scared, or sad or
Okay blah blah blah this is a big mooshy mess. Time to finish this up and find a way to hide this so no one can see it til I get home.
Me: 1
Black Mage: 1
10/23/195X (2011)
Date: 2011-10-23 07:04 am (UTC)I'd like to pretend things are really just boring at the moment. That the town's at that weird spot where it's calm in general, even among everyone in the town, and that nothing is really going down. For the most part, it is. But in an odd way, it isn't. Like there's a weird discontent. Well, for me that isn't so weird, especially with that stupid freak following me apparently. Yeah. We'll see how long that'll last because that crap isn't something I'm going to tolerate too much more of.
I killed him. All by myself, without tools or anything. With just a bat. I can kill him. I've done it before so I can do it again. I didn't run. I actually faced that stupid sucker down.
I was angry. Not normal angry, either. An actual sort of...burning anger? Like usually there's this weird, kind of slow, sick sensation when I'm angry most of the time. But now it was like...I guess the best way to put it is saying it was like there was a coal in my stomach. Or something? God, that's stupid. I'd burn this page if I wasn't sure of the fact that no one was ever going to see it.
I don't even know why I was that angry. I'm used to people threatening me. I'm not used to them threatening my friends? Like, I don't even know. I'm not used to them threatening my friends.
I'm not used to having friends to threaten.
The dance a week ago was pretty lame. Except for when Slugger and I hit the lights and decide it was time to liven things up a bit. That was pretty awesome. A plan actually worked too. Not that my plans don't usually work. I mean most of them work. Some of the times.
Who am I kidding? My plans fail most of the time. I guess I should kind of try and do this right, right? Like a journal is the one place where you're not supposed to lie to yourself. Or if it is a place you can still lie to yourself, I kinda think I lie enough everywhere else to make up for not lying here.
Nothing else really happened at the dance.
I dunno if he knows, but I know Slugger and his girlfriend, or not girlfriend, or whatever he's calling her, ended up dancing at least once. I wonder how much I can milk out of him by screwing with him about that.
I'm jealous of him. Of them.
I don't know why.
Picky's here.
I don't even know what I'm supposed to do there.
I wanted him here at first I mean I actually asked for him and now that he's here all I want is for him to be gone because back home might be a hellhole but at least it's a hellhole he has a chance of having a productive life in. At least I don't have to worry about some weirdo freakjob jumping out and slitting his throat in Onett like I do here. I mean what am I even going to do? I can't just follow him all day everyday. Well. I don't know that. I guess I could try.
I guess I'll burn that bridge when I get to it. I just need to figure out what to do.
October 29th, 195X (2011)
Date: 2011-10-30 05:30 am (UTC)I don't know if that makes sense. I don't care if it makes sense. It's the only way to describe it.
And it's a bad description because I've never really been
whole
But broken - more broken, I guess - fits best.
And it's a comforting feeling. Comforting?
Comforting.
Like it's scary but it's calm. Like I guess it's what you'd imagine being dragged under water is like, and you freak out for awhile.
And then as your oxygen decreases your brain slowly dies and you go under fully.
I want to go under. I'm scared to go under. I don't know.
I just want something. Anything. I want to be complete. I want to be free.
But I don't deserve it. Not really. So I'll go with going under.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
I don't even know what I'm apologizing for. Me I guess.
You know you'd think I'd be manic or something or really scared or angry but I'm not. Not really. Just kind of numb. And distant. And not really sure of anything. I'm not sure if I'm really here anymore.
Maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm dreaming.
I'm sorry for going on.
I'm sorry for everything.
I need rest. But I don't really rest much. Not anymore.
But I'm so comfortable right now.
I wish I was a better person. Or a smarter person. Or a braver person. Something that justified my continued survival above everyone else.
I wish I was a person at all.
I'm done here. I have nothing more to say. I just.
I need to stop talking.
November 9th, 195X (2011)
Date: 2011-11-10 12:14 am (UTC)But now that I've been here for as long as I have, it isn't something I wonder, it's something I know. Things go bad because I screw up. That's it. That's all. It isn't anyone or anything else's fault. It's mine.
You know something? When it comes from someone else? That sucks to hear. Like it's painful.
But when I write it down? It isn't so bad.
I don't know where to really go from here after admitting it. I mean being in this place has been like an endurance test of repeatedly admitting I'm wrong about what I do and believe and yada yada yada. But I guess the difference is that I was forced the other times? Like, I had to keep having it happen over and over and over before I...well. I guess I admitted defeat. And that always sucks.
But I guess this isn't so much defeat. Not really. It's more like discovery. This isn't someone else pointing it out to me, this is me pointing it out to me. And I guess there's a difference in that.
I don't even know why I'm talking about this. Well. Okay. I guess I know a little. But even I don't want to write about that right now. And it's odd. Like, I've known for so long what I should've been doing, but not how what I have been doing has been wrong. I haven't been remembering the people who've been gone: I've been mourning. I haven't been trying to help, I've just been doing the same things I always do and say I'm doing it for a different reason.
You know how I said it didn't suck too bad saying it to yourself? Yeah okay I lied by this point. It sucks pretty bad even if it's you telling yourself what you need to do.
But I actually have an idea now. Of what I should be doing. And maybe I can act on it now that I know what I've been doing wrong.
After Christmas, that is. This is like, my New Year's Resolution.
My Pre-New Year's Resolution, I guess.
But I'll try and keep it.
December 8th, 195X (2011)
Date: 2011-12-09 04:38 am (UTC)Well.
Guess I was wrong on that front too.
I've always kinda-sorta gotten the idea of "right" and "wrong". I knew there were things you were supposed to do, and things you weren't supposed to do, but it wasn't like I really gave a crap about them until. Well, until I got to this place I guess. I should probably talk about that, and the people who made me care, and about her, but I'll talk about one trainwreck at a time, thanks. I've got a few dozen to cover, so no reason to spread myself thin already about them. But either way, I've known about them. But I never really cared, because I guess I couldn't really point at one thing and go "you know what? I know this to be wrong for sure."
But now I can. After the last day of that horse crap? Yeah, I can point at it and go "that was wrong". I'm not a saint, or even a decent person by any stretch of the imagination but...I don't even know what else to say about it. Especially on the last day. It's just-
Is that what I do? Is that what I'm going to reduce that Lucas kid's world too. I already didn't want to do that, by this point. Now I know I really don't want to. And it's this weird, sick-queasy feeling I keep getting recently, keep feeling, when I think about it. I guess it's guilt. I mean, what else could it be? I guess it's guilt, knowing that in the end I'm apparently going to cause something like what I just saw, at least in one way.
But I'm not. Not anymore. Because other than the last day, I
I don't know. I felt proud again, for the first time in a long time. I felt proud, and like I could actually do something, and that? That was great. If it hadn't been for the last day, that trip would've still sucked hard but it still wouldn't have been as awful.
Maybe that's jerkish to write. Is that progress? That I'm recognizing what's kind of jerkish when I say or write it? Eh. Who cares. Maybe.
I guess the point is that I actually know something is wrong. Like. It actually bothers me. And that probably is a good thing, I guess.
And I'm not going to let people down anymore. Not if I can help it. Because there is crap I can do here. I've just got to find a way to work it in better to what I've usually been doing. It isn't that I'm worthless I
I'm not worthless.
I'm not worthless.
I can type it and actually feel it.
I'm not worthless.
And for once I'm not lying when I type that. That's what I actually feel, for once and
I'm stopping now.
I'll write more later maybe. I just need to stop.
1/1/195X (2012)
Date: 2012-01-01 07:09 am (UTC)But where the one on Christmas had just been foreboding and kinda creepy, this one was almost
Yeah alright I'll say it. It was sad, alright?
I feel bad for them. The people keeping us here, I mean. Don't get me wrong. I hate them for what they've done to me, putting me here and degrading me here and killing me here and my little brother. I hate what they've done to me and I hate what they've done to him and in a strange way? I hate what they've done to everyone. It's just wrong. I keep saying that more and more because I think I get it more and more. It's wrong what they're doing and it's wrong that they even thought it, least from what we can tell. Maybe they had a reason. I dunno.
I don't really care, either. Not after all that's gone on here. I just don't care.
I don't care about a lot of things anymore, and there are a lot of things I do care about. I don't know how that makes any sense but that's how it is.
But for a while now, I've just kept thinking about the people that've brought us here. About Olney, who had betrayed the people he cared about, his friends, because he thought he couldn't get away any other way. That victory was impossible unless he did.
I can relate to that.
I couldn't make out everything that was said in that. Only little bits and pieces. But that last bit. It's something I kept saying to myself a lot, you know? I did all the bad crap I did because I wanted to make my world. A world, just for me.
"A world where nothing can hurt me anymore."
That kind of world doesn't exist. For anyone. It's about finding ways to reduce the hurt, not avoid it.
Maybe if we can show her that, we can win.
But I doubt it.
January 20th, 195X (2012)
Date: 2012-01-20 06:01 am (UTC)Giegue is here. I'm not fine with that, but it is what it is. And even after everything I'm still not sure what I'm supposed to do.
I'm not going back. Not in earnest. Maybe I can fool him. Probably not forever, he's too smart for that. But maybe if I go to him and tell him he was right and beg and crawl like I used to do he'll buy it. And maybe I can control him.
No that's not the right word. Not really control I guess more like....tame? No. Inhibit, I guess. Maybe I could inhibit him from getting too far, or could sabotage enough of what he does without him telling for a while that it could make an actual difference. I mean I need to be able to do something, I owe that to people both still here and gone I owe it to a lot of people and I just don't know what to do and I just want to hide or cry and give up. And I hate that I can't anymore. And I hate it because it would feel so good to just leave and let everyone else deal with it.
But I have to deal with it. For once I've got to do something.
People believe in me. And for once? I want to reward them for that.
They deserve it.
No one ever really leaves. Everyone I've known is still here with me, even when they're not.
Okay. This is sappy bullcrap. I'm putting this away now.
A Letter, in Case of Perma-Droning
Date: 2012-01-22 07:05 pm (UTC)If you’re reading this, that means you and I have probably switched places. I’m kinda hoping I’m saying a lot while saying little and all that jazz, but I’m no real writer. But it does kind of give you the basic idea of this place: things change. Sometimes for the better, a lot of times for the worse. Naw I guess that’s too cynical at this point even for me. A lot of times it’ll be for the better. What could make it worse is your reaction.
Yeah, I just contradicted myself. Get used to it, I’m going to be doing that crap a lot.
Anyway, welcome to Mayfield, your new home. Congratulations buddy, you’re in it for the long run.
I’m going to give you a short rundown on what Mayfield is, but understand that isn’t the point of this letter. There’s a lot of people who could give you a better explanation most likely still here, as well as at least one pamphlet going around that has information. But I might as well clue you in a bit as to what I know. Mayfield is, far as I can tell, an enclosed dimension. If you try to leave the town, you’ll simply circle back to the other side of town. I don’t know about flying or digging, but those most likely have similar barriers, and you’ll find teleporting out of the town impossible. Everything that makes you you: powers, equipment, even scars and some physical features especially if you aren’t human? Have been taken away from you once you first arrive. Don’t worry, you’ll be getting them back, either one once every month or every other month or so when some weird crap goes down in the town, or you can get it from the Post Office.
I’m not going to talk much about the events. Just know that they’re usually bad, and incredibly dangerous. Sometimes you’ll luck out on them and they’ll just be annoying: those’ll usually be the ones held on smaller holidays. But most times they’ll be dangerous. As for the Post Office? Don’t go there. Whatever you have, it isn’t worth what they’re going to charge unless it’s something very small. And even that can be a gamble.
You’re going to notice a bunch of friendly looking morons here with blank looks on their faces. Those are drones, and they’re people like you or me who’ve been brought here and subsequently brainwashed to believe they’ve always been here. This brainwashing can happen to you too. See, the whole point of you being in this house is because the town wants you to pretend you’re part of a good old American family. Why it wants us to do that we still don’t friggin’ know, and if the word America means nothing to you I’ll let someone else explain it because who gives a crap. The important thing is that if you don’t follow the rules set by the town you can get brainwashed into being like that. The brainwashing can last from hours to days to weeks to months to, you guessed it, being permanent.
Death isn’t permanent here. I’m not going to expound on that, but I am going to say that if you think that’s some kind of advantage, or an invitation to do what you want to other people? You’re wrong, and you’re going to suffer for thinking that.
Now that I’m done introducing you to your new home, I guess it’s time to get to the actual meat of why I’m writing this. I don’t know who you are, but if you’re here I can kind of guess you aren’t normal. Not completely. And this town kind of brings all types in, good or bad. I don’t know what you are, but I guess this letter is addressing you if you’re more of the bad variety, if just because I understand that more. I’d like to think it won’t be wasted on you if you’re a hero type but you probably won’t need or care about this as much. Really, it probably does, but I don’t know.
Whoever you are? You’re about to learn just how human you are here. And I don’t care if you’re a monster, or an alien, or whatever. I don’t care if you’re the biggest badass the world the has ever known, or if you just think you are. Right now you’re just a punk. You’re nothing. You’re a baby crawling and crying and completely helpless, and you need the people around you here. And the nice thing about it? Is that they need you too. You’re human now buddy. And unless you really are just that heartless of a monster, and that stoic to stand on your own unconditionally? You’re going to need to embrace being human.
That’s kind of a lesson you’re going to have to learn on your own though, but I can’t begin to list all the ways the people here will try to approach you, or the weird situations you’re going to find yourself in. And trust me, I kinda had my share of weird bullcrap before I got here. Maybe you’ll find yourself approached and being asked to join one of the groups here by someone you’ve never met before, just because they want you there since they see something in you. Or you’ll find that someone who, by all rights should hate you unconditionally, who ends up forgiving you, helping you, just because they’re that much of a better person. Because for some reason you can’t fathom they care beyond just stopping you from being the monster you’ve shown you can be. You might find yourself in a pretty violent rivalry, only one day for you to find that person the single best friend you’ve ever had.
Some days you might even find you’ve fallen in love, but don’t quote me on that one.
You need the people here, and they need you. If you think you’re exempt from this then you’re deluding yourself, and it’s better if you knock that crap out but quick unless you want to go through a lot of pain here. Which isn’t saying this place isn’t painless. But it’s best to save yourself one form of pain, isn’t it? Cause trust me you’ll be getting enough as you go on, and the softer you can make your fall the better.
This place can take a lot from you. But the one thing it can’t take away from you is love.
Saying that is oddly painful and exhilarating at the same time. Embarrassing too but you’re never going to see me so I don’t friggin’ care.
But hey, if you want? Don’t heed anything I’ve just told you. Go ahead and try being a jerk on your own and see how much that nets you. Go ahead and play the badass and reject the girl who asks you to be part of her group the first time because you think you’re too cool, or rampage like a moron thinking you can prove how awesome you are the first time you regain powers or equipment, or any of that crap. Enjoy being alone, dummy, because while people need you even the people here can only tolerate bullcrap to such a level, and they won’t mind handing out pretty steep punishments for being a jerk. And chances are? You deserve whatever they hand out to you for your bullcrap. Wizen up, and do it quick.
You’re going to find this note on top of a stack of papers. That’s my journal, and unlike this note that isn’t for you, at least not right now. I guess you’re not indebted to me, but if you want to be at least half-way decent, due me a favor. Ask on the phone if there’s anyone named Picky; if there is, this journal goes to him. If there isn’t, ask for someone named Slugger, and it’s his. If neither are still here, I guess it’s yours to do with what you please, although I’d prefer it if you didn’t just destroy it like a tool, thanks. It probably won’t be very helpful, but it’s still memories in there. Maybe you could get something from it, even if I’d rather not have a perfect stranger not going through it.
By the way keep this note around. Or if you do get rid of it? Have the decency to write one yourself for the next person in case you get perma-droned here. You got a fair warning, don’t be a jerk and keeo someone else in the dark when they get here.
I’d say I don’t care who you are. Really, it should be easier to say that now that I’m friggin’ gone, too. I kind of wrote this letter because I’m somewhere between happy and morose, and I dunno if that shows. I’ve been here a year and a half, and the possibility of just not waking up as me one day keeps seeming possible. There doesn’t seem to be any pattern for perma-droning, but I’ve noticed that it’s the people who’ve been here longer and those who’ve just arrived who seem to oddly have the highest chance of eventually getting perma-droned. But I guess I want to say that even if I’m not here, I do care about you. Once we end up in this hellhole, we’re kind of stuck in it together. That’s the big thing. You can’t stand on your own here, but you can’t stand alongside others.
Trying to get out of here is about getting into trouble, but it’s about getting into trouble together.
If there’s any words I’d like you to remember from this letter, it’s those last ones.
Either way? You’re in for a long, hard road.
Good luck.
February 6th, 195X (2012)
Date: 2012-02-07 06:25 am (UTC)I died and came back a week later and feel like crap, which is pretty inconvenient, but who really cares. That's one of the important points now. Clod's gone, yet another person I know is gone, and I'm still trucking on along.
And it's just. In the year and a half I've been here, I've had a lot of "siblings". Like, seriously. It's been like a frigging revolving door. And it was more creepy than sad when they left because I never really got to know them. Maybe that's cruel. Considering it's me talking, it probably is, but whatever. They were probably good people or at least better than me but they just weren't here for that long and I never got to know them. They were just another one of the hundreds of people this town brought and then took down.
But Clod was different. With Clod, I thought I could relate, I guess. Like we were from different situations but they were situations that still seemed to cross with one another. Seemed to connect. And it felt so good, to meet someone else who understood, who really understood the situation I had come from. I wouldn't say it made me feel better about myself but I guess it helped make me feel less lonely. To actually tell someone who I was and hear them say "I understand" and just be sure that they did. I don't doubt that people care anymore. But understand? I doubt it. No one should have to understand the person I am.
And now that she's gone it's just...this empty feeling. And I can't stand looking at her drone or staying in this stupid house with her anymore. And I don't understand why it's always other people. It's like this town draws people in and just eats them up, repeatedly, endlessly. Really. Just how many people has this town brought here and then devoured, leaving nothing but shells of them behind. Not even leaving names.
I wonder, sometimes, if I'm the only person who remembers some of the people I know who are gone now. Am I the only one who remembers them? And when I'm gone, will their names be gone too? Are they still here, clinging kind of like ghosts as long as I'm here, only to dissipate if I go down, no one else to remember them or love them like they deserve? That's bullcrap. I don't understand it. I don't understand how you could keep doing that to people and I've done so much wrong myself but I just. I don't understand. What was even the point?
How long is this town going to jerk us around? Just give us something, anything, by this point. It's one of the few things that really keeps me going for the most part is trying to find out what's actually going on, not because I deserve to know but because the people who're gone now deserve to have some finality in what happened to them. I need to know so those clinging little ghosts, those names, can know. And so I can etch a proper memorial for them.
And I just don't understand why it's always them, and it just solidifies my idea there's no real justice, no objective one, left. Why should the better people, good people go but I keep to get walking on and on, surviving? I mean, it's one thing if they're back home, and they're safe and they're happy and they're warm like they deserve to be and I'm kept in imprisonment like I deserve but I just can't get the idea of that stupid generator out of my head and at nights I swear I see it sometimes, even though I never saw it in real life. I see it and can hear it and the voices like Slugger told me and I just
I sleep a lot less than I used to. Which wasn't much to begin with.
I mean, what next? Is Slugger going to go next? Picky? So many of the people I know are gone and I just wish sometimes that it'd just go ahead and take me if it spares someone else or it'd let me stay until I know the end and I can prepare something to remember all those who're gone by now and it suck so bad.
I want to cry. But I'm not doing that.
March 9th, 195X (2012)
Date: 2012-03-09 06:45 am (UTC)I don't know why I did that. It's not like it's some crap I get into all that much. But I did it anyway. It was an impulse and hey it's not like I'm a stranger to those. But it was a weirder impulse than usual. Not something I had to do that moment because I felt it would be cool but a kind of tug. Like it was something I wanted to do and knew I'd regret it if I didn't even though I could come back and look at the stars anytime. It's not like there'd be anything to stop me.
You know. I say that now and I know I could be wrong later. Death is acting...wonky here. I wonder if it's really going to keep up or eventually if it's going to fizzle out entirely. It's not like the good you could find in this place ever came from the town itself. It came from a lot of things, and a lot of people, but never from this place. ...Well. Maybe some good things came from this place but they were pretty few and far between to the point that I can't really remember them. It'd be nice if I could but like hell if I can at the moment.
So I just sat there and I looked up at the stars. And you never know how beautiful something is until you actually look at it. I know that sounds cliche, the idea of "seeing" something but not really seeing it. I don't really care. It's not like I'm a poet or a writer or some crap anyway. But for the first time I found that I actually kind of liked them.
I mean I know the science behind stars. Who doesn't? Even the biggest romantic dong knows what stars actually are. But here, in this place, where nothing is what it actually appears to be I wonder sometimes if those stars are maybe where they've pulled us from. Are glowing signposts of the worlds we had been from. Everything in this place is fake - everything the town itself makes that is - so maybe the stars aren't stars. And maybe they aren't simple projections either although I know that's what they are.
Maybe they're worlds. Universes, even. And in those universes are life and it's from those universes that we came. And it's to those universes we actually go back. And you know something it's hard. It's hard to hate when you've actually loved and I guess that's kind of derailing what I'm trying to say. Maybe not too much but it sort of is. It's like hate is a river or some crap, and people are these beavers who build dams and the dams are love and those love dams block up the river and
Oh God. Did I really just write that? What is that? What does that even mean? I would pay for someone to decipher what I just wrote or where I was even going with that.
But I guess what I wanted to say is that maybe those stars are where we're from and where we'll go back to if we're droned or once this is over. Maybe it's where everyone I've known who is gone know is, hanging there where maybe they can't see me but I can see them.
So I'll go out each night and I'll look up at the stars and I'll ask how they've been and tell them how I've been doing. And maybe if things pan out they'll hear me.
God.
That was way cheesier than I intended. Sometimes I seriously wonder why I bother coming back to this stupid thing.
April 15th, 195X (2012)
Date: 2012-04-16 04:40 am (UTC)But I'd rather be in love than not.
I don't even know why I bothered to write this down. There's nothing else I want to say right now.
July 1st, 195X (2012)
Date: 2012-07-01 04:56 am (UTC)I mean. I've been happy. I dunno. That's the only way to put it but it feels kind of like it's more than happiness. Like it feels that, for once, things are going okay and that they'll be okay. I want to call it hope but at the same time? It feels like it's more than that. It feels stronger than that. And even with all the weird crap, and the bad crap that's happened to me here and happened recently, even with all the people I've lost and probably will lose. I can't stop feeling this feeling.
Like. Is this joy? What is is this? It seems stupid that it should be joy or that I even should be happy but I am. I shouldn't want the people who are still here to be here. I should want them at home, or at least safe and happy, and I do want that. But it's so good to even just have them here. And even if they were to leave, it's good to have just known them.
God. That's cheesy. I'm glad I'm the only one who will ever read this crap.
In a weird way, it's just nice to know that I can love. Or at least I think I can. Sometimes I wonder if I really do. If I get the emotions I'm showing, if I really understand them. Like sometimes I wonder if the emotions I feel aren't real and I'm just copying people. Just going through the motions of what I'm seeing them doing and calling that my emotions.
But I don't think that's the case. And maybe in the end it doesn't matter.
It's stupid. It's so completely stupid but. I want to help. I've been saying that for a while now but I haven't felt it until now, if that makes any sense. But I get it now.
I'm finally going to try and help.
Take a Melody (Final Journal Entry) - Septermber 3rd, 195X (2012)
Date: 2012-09-03 07:02 am (UTC)You know I'd have been pretty happy about it before. I would have just been laughing about it too probably, thinking that of course it would fall. That in the end it couldn't hope to keep someone like me inside of it, even though it has crap all to do with me at all. The place is falling apart, I guess, because in the end I think it's made by someone like me: someone who's scared of facing a world that doesn't fit everything according to them. Someone who thinks everyone else is crap not because they are better than everyone else, but in the end because they know everyone else is better than them. And when the chance comes to lord over everyone else? They take it no matter what it might be.
But I guess that's straying from the original sentiment and all. Which is that I guess I don't want this place to end. But I know it has to end, one way or the other. Because even if I have nowhere to go at the end of all this everyone else does and I won't stop them from that. Most of them deserve that.
Man. Listen to me. I've become a total weenie during my stay in this stupid hole. I guess being subjected to losers makes you a loser yourself even if you're as awesome as I am.
But because this is just between me and a bunch of empty pages - I don't know why I keep forgetting that - being a loser isn't so bad. In fact being a loser is a lot better than being a winner. I always thought the whole "it's lonely on the top" thing was bull but in the end it's true. Because in the end the top is something you set yourself and only you can see. It's not even real loneliness it's loneliness you create yourself. That you feel you have to create because you do want to be the best. Even when you don't even really understand what being the best is.
I guess, for a while, I was pretty amazing. I was kinda like a god - maybe not proper. But I'm not sure what else you'd call something that could go forwards and back in time and didn't seem to age at all, that had become immortal. Thinking about all the crap I could have done and hadn't it's kind of amazing I didn't do more to the world or worlds then I guess I'm going to do. And I thought it was fun. But I guess you'd think gouging your eye out with a ruler would be fun to if it's all you were doing and all you felt you could do.
I don't want to go back to that. I don't. Not after here. For all the torture and death and pain this place brings it. I dunno. I'm happy here. I have something here, and not just something I can dream about having. I have things I can touch. People I can talk to. People I care about. Memories I care about. It's easy to keep saying this place is hell and for most I guess it is. But really?
This is what I think Heaven for me feels like.
But it can't go on. Even if it wasn't failing it can't go on anymore. Because even Heaven can look crappy when everyone else is miserable in it.
I dunno if there's anything I can do to stop it. Maybe we're all just going to be destroyed or die here. Maybe the place will reset itself somehow and rebuild and entirely new people will come in and have no idea of what had happened before. And maybe some of the things we leave here will slip between the cracks and the new prisoners might find something.
If that's the case I want to leave something for them to find. Something that's a lot more important than all the rambling crap I've left here because hey. I'm not going to be here to answer for any of it and it's not like I'm going to waste my time writing more about everything I've written so far.
So I'm going to leave a list of people. And everyone here is someone very important and everyone here deserves to be remembered a hundred, a thousands times more than I do. This is stupid and cheesy but I've come this far so why not.
There's two things I want whoever might find this stupid thing, if anyone finds it, to remember.
The first are the names of these people:
Picky Minch
Mindy
Frances Fulbright
Little Slugger
Tak
Kyrie Ushiromiya
BLU Engineer
Mae
Aisling
Gash Bell
Cynric
Laharl
Ash Ketchum
Dawn
Jecht
Thorkell the Strong
Mieu
Mickey Mouse
Rika Furuda
Clod
Raz
Ken
Harpuia Sage
Feferi Piexes
Jade Harley
Karkat Vantas
Enma Ai
Nigel Uno
Red
There's more here I meant to add. I know there is. But I never said my memory is the best, even though whoever they are they deserved better.
But each person here is someone special. Someone I've had to admit is special, whether I wanted to or not. And if it wasn't for them I wouldn't be me in anyway that I am now, for better or worse. Probably worse because hey. You can't improve on perfection.
As for the second thing?
If you're seriously still reading this stupid thing so far (and I know you are, I mean, it is pretty cool look who's writing it) there's something I want you to remember. Maybe it'll seem simple to you and if it does then you're on the right path already. Maybe it'll seem stupid to you and if that's the case maybe you'll go through changes too.
But it's the most important thing I've ever learned while being here. So maybe it'll help.
Ready for the big reveal? Okay. Here it is.
The most important lesson I've learned these past two years is this:
Love is real.
Epilogue - December 13 (2013)
Date: 2013-12-14 05:45 am (UTC)The first time I was writing it it was because I was trying to avoid a mental breakdown. Whoops. That didn't end too well, though I guess I got through it anyway. Then I wrote it because I hoped it'd at least tell someone what'd happened here if Mayfield just decided to kill all of us. Guess that doesn't matter. Eventually this place and everyone'll in it will be gone. Who knows when.
But that's not what I'm really writing in this dumb thing for again. I guess I want to write down what I learned.
I learned that people aren't worthless. I still don't like people, not as a whole. I wouldn't go out of my way to help most of them. But I don't want them crushed and smashed and caged like I used to. People aren't great, but they aren't horrible.
But sometimes? People are pretty great. Even if they aren't people in a biological or metaphysical sense. If they aren't people in a moral sense. And sometimes even if they're the best kind of people and they still somehow want to be around or for some reason love a jerk like me. There aren't many people like that. But those people? Are worth it.
They're worth opening up and loving back.
Not like I'd tell them that. But I guess I can write it here since no one will ever read it.
I've learned that there's such a thing as a home. I never really thought there was one. I thought home was just a broken word for a broken place where people you can't stand yell at you and wail on you and you hate them in turn. Maybe not every home is great. No home can really be chosen.
But sometimes you luck into one anyway.
And I guess I learned that I can change. Maybe I didn't change in as big a way as I thought: it's not like I actually ever was Pokey Minch. But it's not like I knew any other way to be. I still really don't. Not that I mind, being me is awesome.
But in the end I'm not who I was when I first woke up in Mayfield. And I think that's probably both good and bad. Somethings about it are great and others suck, and sometimes they do both at the same time.
In three years, I've become someone different. Maybe better. Not a good person, but at least a person.
If this place can last that long, and if I'm still here, if the people I love are still here
Who knows what person I'll become in the next three?
And now I can go vomit after writing this sugary sweet crap.
MLJ Entries Begin Underneath
Date: 2014-12-25 06:19 am (UTC)March 25th, ???? (2015)
Date: 2015-03-26 04:25 am (UTC)I don't know why I care at this point. This last little tidbit from the weird, butch pony lady about just how bad things are here should have helped me pitch whatever care I could manage to scrounge up in this multicolor wasteland out the window.
So why am I caring more about it?
I don't know. It's not that I'd say I even want to help. Do I feel obligated to? No. That isn't right either.
I don't know.
And that bugs the crap out of me. I mean I did crap I didn't understand all the time in Mayfield, and even now I'm still not sure why I did it, or why I came to care, or why I still do. But I'm glad that I did and I do. The world is a super crappy place if you decide you don't care about anything but you. Deciding to care about you alone means you also get to walk alone. And for a long time, I thought that's what I wanted.
I'm not afraid to, if I gotta, but I don't want it anymore.
It'd probably be pointless trying to help the idiots here, give them advice or anything. I've tried before and it feels like all of them are more interested in fighting me, or telling me I'm wrong or that my own experience was because I did something wrong but hey if you have any advice on how to stop someone from dying from radiation poisoning in a bombed-out wasteland I'd sure like to hear it, asshole.
I'd like to think that a lot of the things that went wrong there weren't my fault. I guess they weren't. But it's still hard to tell me that.
Some weirdo suggested I write a book. About everything I saw and learned in Mayfield. And while books are some nerdo crap, it isn't a terrible idea I guess. It makes sure there's a way more lasting source for it, so that others can know about it. Learn about it. Remember it.
I dunno if I have any real lessons I can give others, that sane people don't already know at least.
But I guess I can make sure it's remembered some how.
December 25th, ???? (2014)
Date: 2014-12-25 06:37 am (UTC)It was nice one of the things this dumb place let me keep was my journal I guess, whole bunch of good it does in stupid friggin' horse world. This place is a cotton candy nightmare, it's like a five year old girl barfed on a coloring book and the coloring book came to life. I guess that's not all the way true because most five year olds don't vomit up death goddesses or whatever's keeping us here either but that'd be pretty cool if they did.
It's funny just how much I hate this place.
I hate the environment of the place. I hate how overly colorful and joyful it is. I hate all the love and friendship crap here, even if I get that it's right by this point. I hate how it smells. I hate how it makes me feel like the only place I actually could function as a person is Mayfield. That I'm destined to just slip the moment I get someplace that's "better", that's "nicer" into who I'm supposed to be. Even if I was never really him.
I really don't want that to happen.
I've kind of decided that at the start of the next year, I'm keeping myself to myself aside from monitoring the boss. Nothing good is going to come from actually talking to the people here; I can't communicate with the people here. It's a pointless waste. But if I keep trying to I'm probably just going to end up how all I always was. Mayfield was a fluke. Or, really, a miracle I guess. And it isn't going to happen again.
I can't do that. I can't let myself get to that point. I owe too many people in Mayfield not to get to that point. When the calender knocks down to January 1st? I'm destroying my scroll. And I'm sticking to my cave. It's not like it'll be too hard. I have my treasure, and dragons love caves and caves that have their treasure and all that crap. I can't get tempted, so long as I'm out of the way. All I can do is get angry and pissed off here, and angry about being here, and angry at just about everyone around me here. I'm going to end up like he's supposed to end up. Like he does end up. I can't inflict that on the idiots here, even if I don't like them.
I just wish I could remember what it was like to think solitude was awesome instead of painful.
January 27, ???? (2015)
Date: 2015-01-28 05:56 am (UTC)It's funny, because I remember when I first got to Mayfield I had thoughts and dreams of wrecking the place, but they eventually faded. Some days, while I'm here, I still think about what it would be like to just go in to a store and start wrecking everything. Just show my disapproval and hatred of this place to everyone as much as I could. Maybe take a bat with me. Maybe smash every dumb window in the place too, for good measure, until one of these dumb horses is brave enough to tackle me or throw me in pony jail, if that's even a thing. Maybe it is. I'm sure they just give hugs and kisses to crooks instead and hope that makes everything better.
I guess I could say I don't know why I don't try and wreck as much as I can, but I know that'd be a lie. Because even if they aren't here, even if they're separated from me in some indescribable amount of space, I know I'd be letting them down. And I just...
I don't want to do that anymore. Maybe they can't see me, sure, but I know what I'm doing. And I know how much that'd worry a lot of them, not because of what I was doing, but just because of me.
No one here is going to care about me like that. I already know that. The place had been a one-shot miracle, and the circumstances just right, to make it so I guess...I dunno. People saw something in me. It wasn't good, I'm pretty sure of that. But something that was worth keeping from getting devoured. And I owe it to them that it doesn't. Even if I don't really care that much.
I don't want anyone to care about me. I guess that's honest enough. Who cares what a bunch of dumb, happy idiot horses think. I don't like them. Don't care if they don't like me.
I wonder if the server is even still alive.
I'm still here, even if I don't deserve to be. Maybe that's a sign of it, maybe it's a sign of nothing. I'd just like to think that they're still there.
Where do A.I. even go when, I dunno. When they lose power?
We're all from the same string of code, in the end. At least from the same initial base, when Mayfield made us. So, maybe...I dunno. Maybe even if they aren't still there, in Mayfield, if it's just entirely gone, maybe some of them, a little of them, is still in me.
It still wouldn't be enough, or what they deserved. But it'd still be something.
May 6th, ???? (2015)
Date: 2015-05-07 04:12 am (UTC)It'd be easy to go back to how I was, here at least. And the more I think about what I have to gain and lose, the more it keeps seeming smarter to me. Why bother with this? Because the more I try and be decent the more it seems forced to me, even if I'm doing it more and more. It's not my nature, right? Not for people who I don't know, for the most part. I keep trying to say to myself Mayfield was just a thing that happened, the only real place I could be a person. I still believe that, most of the time.
But really?
I don't like this place. I don't even like most of the people in it. And I have a hard time believing they'll realistically manage to work together in the end. It's suicide to want to help them.
But I still want to. Maybe I'm just used to losing and I'm just putting myself on the losing team to get ready for disappointment.
And sometimes I think maybe everything here will be okay. Maybe it doesn't have to just be Mayfield, even though I know that'll be my only real home. But maybe, even here?
I guess even this place is worth defending, if just because some of the people deserve it.
This is dumb. I'm going to stop writing now.
Cosmographia Entries Begin Under Here
Date: 2015-07-22 04:54 pm (UTC)July 22, ???? (2015)
Date: 2015-07-22 05:08 pm (UTC)So this is my second tour of being stuck in this dumb crapshack town with a stone lodged in my throat, and I guess we'll see if it lasts any longer than the first one. Personally, I wouldn't mind if it didn't so long as the way I get out means going back home or at least closer to it, instead of wandering around the big stupid temple again. This place is supposed to give you powers but hey I seem to be getting to miss out on those so whatever. Big crock of crap if you ask me, especially as to what whoever brought us here wants.
I'm not sure if it bothers me or makes me feel good at how easy it is to fall into just not caring about things here now that I keep getting separated further and further from Mayfield. A big part of me would be happy to sell the jokers here out if it meant finding a way home. Why should I care what happens to these people? They aren't mine. It's wishful thinking anyway; it's not like I've been presented any kind of chance to sell them out, let alone that gets me anything I'd want.
But, if I did sell them out? I don't know if I could face everyone back at Mayfield. I mean this is just a bunch of theoretical butt looking and picking if we're being honest but. I guess everyone back home still holds me to 'higher' standards than they ever should. And hey, not like I should care about anyone else but me but...it sucks. Actually caring about other people and what they'd think when they're not here. It's like I'm not my own anymore. And know what? That'd be fine, if they were here but they're not and I'm still not so I guess I will just unquestioningly work with these losers because that's what everyone else would want me to do.
I keep getting pulled further way from the things and people I care about, and when I start caring about things and people in the next place I am I get pulled away again. That's some great humor there, universe, but I'm still not laughing.
I never got the idea of a 'home'. Not really. Why would any chump want to just bind himself to one place and get stuck there and smothered by a bunch of goobers he forced himself to interact with. I didn't want to, I wanted to keep exploring and going wherever and I wanted and doing whatever I wanted without having to think of any kind of consequence. But then, in Mayfield, I guess I got a home, and I know what it's all about. I never thought I'd get tired of just mucking it up in other places.
But now, I just want to go home.
Day 122 (September 16, 2015)
Date: 2015-09-17 07:14 am (UTC)I mean, yeah, I guess I'm doing that right now but write publically, is what I mean. Yeah, yeah, I know that is many some of the nerdiest crap that anyone can do. I might as well start a coin collection and get a pocket protector or something to go along with this. Why not I'm pretty much giving any cred I have away by doing this.
But I mean I guess I have something to write about now. As far as I know, I might be the only one of us still outside Mayfield and who remembers anything about it. I could be the only one who could tell anyone about Mayfield, and what happened there, and the people there. And the fact that I'm the only one who can, who remembers, who cares?
That's sad. They deserve way better than that. If anyone can talk about them or tell others about them, it's me. And I have to. Because I want to. I guess it might just be the right thing to do, too, but hey. I don't care about that that much.
I guess I can start using the internet network here to document it. It'd be the easiest way to start talking about it, and letting the most people see it. I mean if I could, I would jam it down people's throats as hard as I can.
I would write it on stone where it couldn't wear away or have it carved into grooves on the beach that couldn't be wiped.
Thank God no one else can see this. I'd hate to have some nerd awww and gaaaah over how namby pamby crap this sounds.
I'll try and start next week.
I just want others to know, so it won't be forgotten when I leave. I just want others to care.