A heavy fog descends over the deep holler where my cabin sits. I can’t really see to the bottom for all the fog. The trees that are visible form a wall of dark vertical lines on a light grey background. I turn on the radio for some music now that my computer has been …MOAR!
Forgotten times, just a blur in the periphery. I think what I learned is not to trust people, not to trust even myself, really. I taught myself, really. Shit, where is this going? …MOAR!
I wake up with too many nightmares clouding my thought. I crack open a Mexican Coke and drink down that real sugar. I was in college again, lost in a dorm, assaulted by “bros,” manipulated into sexual humiliation by lesbians. I can’t go to work today. I go to Anonymous. In the middle of …MOAR!
I wake up and go straight to the computer. I always go straight to the computer. It’s my only source for information aside from paperbacks. Call me an addict, but at least it’s not television.
No e-mails, no facebooks, not even any interesting news. I take a shit, but don’t shower and forget to brush …MOAR!
Wilbur Mercer never stops climbing. …MOAR!
Today, “dox” were dropped on the wrong John Rubenstein. In lay-speak that means the e-mail address, home address, and home phone number of John Rubenstein from Backtrace Security was published. …MOAR!
Hubris to release revealing personal documents pertaining to members of Anonymous who he believes lost the way. …MOAR!
Backtrace Security might be trolls. They might not. You should shit yourself. Now. …MOAR!