Blueeyedboy Read Free

the universe follows my WebJournal. And so life goes on – for most of us – much the same as it ever did, and blueeyedboy sleeps the sleep of the just – if not quite that of the innocent.

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    You are viewing the webjournal of blueeyedboy .
    Posted at : 18.04 on Monday, January 28
    Status : restricted
    Mood : blah
    Listening to : Del Amitri : ‘Nothing Ever Happens’
    That was just two days ago. Already we’re back to normal, apart from planning the funeral. Back to our comfort rituals, our little everyday routines. With Ma, it’s dusting the china dogs. With me, of course, it’s the Internet: my WeJay, my playlists, my murders.
    Internet . An interesting word. Like something brought up from the deep. A net for something that has been interred, or something as yet to be interred; a holding-place for all the things we’d rather keep secret in our real lives. And yet, we like to watch, don’t we? Through a glass, darkly, we watch the world turn: a world peopled with shades and reflections, never more than a mouse-click away. A man kills himself – live, on cam. It’s disgusting, but strangely compulsive. We wonder if it was a fake. It could be a fake; anything could. But everything looks so much more real when you’re watching it on a computer screen. Thus even the things we see every day – perhaps especially those things – gain an extra significance when glimpsed through the eye of a camera.
    That girl, for instance. The girl in the bright-red duffel coat who walks past my house nearly every day, windswept and oblivious to the camera’s eye that watches her. She has her habits, as do I. She knows the power of desire. She knows that the world turns not on love, or even money, but on obsession .
    Obsession? Of course. We are all obsessed. Obsessed with TV; with the size of our dicks; with money and fame and the love-lives of others. This virtual – though far from virtuous – world is a reeking midden of mind-trash, mish-mash, slash; car dealerships and Viagra sales, and music and games and gossip and lies and tiny personal tragedies lost in transit down the line, waiting for someone to care, just once, waiting for someone to connect –
    That’s where WeJay comes in. WebJournal, the site for all seasonings. Restricted entries for private enjoyment; public – well, for everyone else. On WeJay I can vent as I please, confess without fear of censure; be myself – or indeed, someone else – in a world where no one is quite what they seem, and where every member of every tribe is free to do what they most desire.
    Tribe? Yes, everyone here has a tribe; each with its divisions and subdivisions, binary veins and capillaries branching out into a near-infinity of permutations as they distance themselves from the mainstream. The rich man in his castle, the poor man at his gate, the pervert with his webcam. No one has to hunt alone, however far from the pack they have strayed. Everyone has a home here, a place where someone will take them in, where all their tastes are catered for –
    Most people go with the popular choice. They choose vanilla every time. Vanillas are the good guys, common as Coca-Cola. Their conscience is as white as their perfect teeth; they are tall and bronzed and presentable; they eat at McDonald’s; they take out the trash; they come with a PG certificate and they’d never shoot a man in the back.
    But bad guys come in a million flavours. Bad guys lie; bad guys cheat; bad guys make the heart beat faster – or sometimes come to a sudden stop. Which is why I created badguysrock : originally a WeJay community devoted to villains throughout the fictional universe; now a forum for bad guys to celebrate beyond the reach of the ethics police; to glory in their crimes; to strut; to wear their villainy with pride.
    Membership is open right now; the price of admission a single post – be it a fic, an essay or just a drabble. Though if there’s something you’d like to confess, this is just the