REDACT! REDACT! REDACT!
(Every time I think about this I just hear that in a dalek voice in my head, hence the title.)
Apparently someone I've mentioned in bygone lj entries is distinctly unimpressed that I've written anything about them or theirs.
I have been asked to cease and desist. If I don't, there is a large question mark over the status of my welcome in their home and company.
Wow. I suddenly feel like the Earl of Rochester when he got kicked out of court for writing that dodgy pornographic play for the king… Only I'm not into orgies, I don't write porn and I don't have syphilis, so maybe that was a bad example.
=======
Let's start at the beginning.
Much of my lj is whiny. It's where I rant because it's less vexing for all concerned if I type my foolish grumpy shit here than spew it up all over other people's shoes. (Just because I don't have screaming fits or shout at the time doesn't mean I'm not affected by things.)
Does the internet care if Wraithwitch complains about her life and the people she claims inhabit her world? No, the internet does not, and nor does anyone else. Especially when Wraithwitch frequently also converses with Sherlock Holmes, Vincent Van Gogh, John Henry Holliday, the vessel of Bedlam, a shadow monster with shears for hands and various sundry other characters - some of whom are real and many of whom are not - and some (very oddly) could conceivably be either depending whom you ask.
Does anyone get to dictate what Wraithwitch writes in Wraithwitch's lj? Unsurprisingly, no.
I've written all sorts of wibble in here over the years: dull, funny, strange, tragic, happy, messed up and everything in between. Whilst I'm certain there are one or two friends who were pissed off I related incident ABC/XYZ, no one has ever taken me to task for it or ask I stop recording such things.
And with the best will in the world - guess what? No bugger gets to.
Not then, not now, not ever.
If my thoughts trouble you, stop reading them. Hell, at least they're not on Twitter =P
Lastly, if you can look at my journal with its decade-plus posts burbling about insanity, art, imagination, blood loss and Alzheimer's - and get worried about your world's scrawled paragraph? I have to tell you: that's not fifteen minutes of fame - that's just your ego.
Apparently someone I've mentioned in bygone lj entries is distinctly unimpressed that I've written anything about them or theirs.
I have been asked to cease and desist. If I don't, there is a large question mark over the status of my welcome in their home and company.
Wow. I suddenly feel like the Earl of Rochester when he got kicked out of court for writing that dodgy pornographic play for the king… Only I'm not into orgies, I don't write porn and I don't have syphilis, so maybe that was a bad example.
=======
Let's start at the beginning.
Much of my lj is whiny. It's where I rant because it's less vexing for all concerned if I type my foolish grumpy shit here than spew it up all over other people's shoes. (Just because I don't have screaming fits or shout at the time doesn't mean I'm not affected by things.)
Does the internet care if Wraithwitch complains about her life and the people she claims inhabit her world? No, the internet does not, and nor does anyone else. Especially when Wraithwitch frequently also converses with Sherlock Holmes, Vincent Van Gogh, John Henry Holliday, the vessel of Bedlam, a shadow monster with shears for hands and various sundry other characters - some of whom are real and many of whom are not - and some (very oddly) could conceivably be either depending whom you ask.
Does anyone get to dictate what Wraithwitch writes in Wraithwitch's lj? Unsurprisingly, no.
I've written all sorts of wibble in here over the years: dull, funny, strange, tragic, happy, messed up and everything in between. Whilst I'm certain there are one or two friends who were pissed off I related incident ABC/XYZ, no one has ever taken me to task for it or ask I stop recording such things.
And with the best will in the world - guess what? No bugger gets to.
Not then, not now, not ever.
If my thoughts trouble you, stop reading them. Hell, at least they're not on Twitter =P
Lastly, if you can look at my journal with its decade-plus posts burbling about insanity, art, imagination, blood loss and Alzheimer's - and get worried about your world's scrawled paragraph? I have to tell you: that's not fifteen minutes of fame - that's just your ego.