My Secret Life
Sometimes, around three or four in the morning, I’ll go to Fluther and drop spoetry (spam poetry) or some Engrish nonsense into the overnight spam knowing that soon it will be erased by the mods without anyone ever seeing it. It feels like an act of pure altruism into the arts, that one would do this, knowing that their creative effort has a lifespan shorter than a fruit fly. No permanence, no recognition, no ego, just the work cast into the Netiverse to only to be cast further into oblivion. (I often think that some of these scribblings are hillarious, but what works at 3 am can actually be quite droll at 3 pm—it’s kind of a crapshoot really—so it is often fitting that these never see the light of day).
Every once in a while a fellow insomniac or someone in another time zone will see these temporary leavings and point them a little lurve and suddenly the altruism is traded for immortality as this causes the item to be accessible in my Lurve List for as long as Fluther lives and possibly beyond. But few know about these secret nocturnal writings.
At three in the morning, it feels both weird and cool. At three in the afternoon, not so much. And that’s weird, too.