Hello,
my children. Gather round and let me tell you a
tale.
First, let me explain myself to you a little. I, children, am an egomaniac. A
first-order, top of the
line, rare as
diamond, dyed in the wool
megalomaniac. It's all so much easier once you admit to yourself that you ARE the center of your own
universe. Why is that important?
Well, in my years of self
absorption, I have grown to know myself rather well. One thing I am very particular about is
neatness. I'd walk a mile over broken glass to set a tea cup on a saucer. Know that about me, and the rest will become clear.
Now, for the story.
Once upon a time, I found E2. What a wonderful vibrant place! Full of stories, but, FAR more importantly, full of an
AUDIENCE. Oh, how wonderful it was, to know that hungry eyes where eating up my
words! I felt ever so smart to find the patterns, to play the crowd, to feed everyone what it was they
wanted. Up and up went my XP, and I felt that
rush, that addiction trickling in my veins. I've been around the shadier parts, I know how that rush can take over. Either way, I rode the
wave. I'd like to think that I was popular on the merits of my own self-worth, but I am not naive enough to discount an appreciation of my
theatrics.
I admit, that at times, I
was an
ass. I did assy things, said assy words, acted in assy ways. But, hey, all in good fun. One of my dearest endevours was expressing an alien
hate for all of mankind, and blindly questing for
power within E2.
Super Villainish! I created, occupied and elevated the fictional offices of
Space Pope,
God-Emperor of Mars, and of course, The
Triumverate. I rallied against the supposed unfairness of the
regime, knowing full well that it is just a group of people, just like me, muddling along on their love of writing, not some evil
cabal.
In essence, I stirred
shit for the fun of it.
Finally, my
monkeyshines have gotten me into trouble. I rallied and railed for an
editorship, content in the knowledge that nobody in their right mind would let me in. Boy, was I wrong. They accepted me at
face value, and TRUSTED me. Don't get me wrong, it was very
flattering, but in truth, I feel like a
fraud in the job.
I tried to get really worked up over the issues that editors discuss, and all the
internacine warfare that goes on. Editors, god bless them, keep
an avalanche of shit from washing the site into oblivion EVERY FUCKING DAY. It is a
job. And there are some over the top, dedicated workaholics, people who audit YEARS worth of content that most people would never trip on in a million clicks, to make sure it is up to
snuff. These editors, they work. Like I said, I feel like a fraud in the position. I just don't have the
grit it takes to judge, jury and execute. My God, is it hard to
destroy a node. I just don't have the heart.
I suppose I am bit bent to the
dem bonesian era of vengeful gods and rash punishments. I'm a
dinosaur who doesn't have the empathy this new
breed of editor has, the patience and dedication it requires to work in the kinder, gentler E2. I have a
fiery heart, not a
gentle hand. It comes back to neatness. I can't make E2 the smooth stack of papers I always dreamed it was. It never could be, because it isn't meant to be. This is a
scrapbook, unlike, say, Wikipedia's infinitely revised, soulless
encyclopedia.
So, thats my problem, my children, my glorious sheep whom I catbox
shepard toward the unknown. I haven't the heart to
edit, and I think I should give it up, in the name of my
Space Popery.
Space God and
Cowboy Jesus Bless you All,
ASE.