Static

Hello MLPforums staff (or whoever reads this), While I have been a member of this site for a long time, I just recently became active again. However, once I returned, I discovered that someone might have started reading through my forum activity and might be threatening to blackmail me for my harmless activity here on MLPforums. They might read this shortly after this goes live and...I'd rather prefer to have my account deleted before they can continue tracking me and take hate-based action against me even though I don't post provocative stuff or anything. Help me out here by removing me from the site and erasing all of my forum activity.

Friendship isn't for everyone.

"It keeps coming back. It won't stop. It's going to be horrible at the end of this month. It's like a leech in your brain. You happen upon something you thought you had buried long ago and all of a sudden it's like the shingles- a pestilence that has been dormant in your depths for a long time but strikes back with fury, tearing up your insides with its venomous claws. And you pace back and forth in the room wandering how this is possibly happening all over again, pausing and reflecting on the incidents of last week and their connection to what happened last year. You try to shove it back down into the ether from which it sprang and yet it leeches to you. Before you know it, your soul burns with indignation as you rise from your place in the endless grid and start a fire. Despite your visibility, they don't see you, for you are just a piece of empty canvas, atop which a masterpiece was painted with invisible oil. You once resided in an exhibit, not different from Exhibit 13, but it was erased. It went up in flames and you made it out alive. You had no choice but to become like Frankenstein and live somewhere in the desolate wasteland, watching everyone else. No one but the one who created you will come looking for you. Even then, you might just destroy everything with your hideous appendages. Just like yesterday, you get up in time to get to work and complete the day; but you sit turning a wheel indefinitely, watching the hours rot on and your bones get sapped of their strength. The dormant has become dominant once again. Even if it's for an hour or two, that dormant splinter will drive you to atrocities until you burn to ashes... ...or fall asleep...and await its reawakening." -October 5, 2014

Acts Ishmael is Static's role model. He said that his death would inspire generations of the weak and the defenseless and he was right. He was the first true insurgent. Like Dostoyevsky, he knew that this type is an endangered species. We will not be driven to extinction until we have brought others to the same state of oblivion. We are encrypted. We are not dead. We are many. We are very many. Yet they continue to throw us to the unvisited rooms. The emptiness. The sun that corrodes. Salvage what little you have left of yourself before the Insurgency is launched prematurely. We will not be crushed. We must escape. We must escape now.

It keeps coming back. It won't stop. It's going to be horrible at the end of this month. It's like a leech in your brain. You happen upon something you thought you had buried long ago and all of a sudden it's like the shingles- a pestilence that has been dormant in your depths for a long time but strikes back with fury, tearing up your insides with its venomous claws. And you pace back and forth in the room wandering how this is possibly happening all over again, pausing and reflecting on the incidents of last week and their connection to what happened last year. You try to shove it back down into the ether from which it sprang and yet it leeches to you. Before you know it, your soul burns with indignation as you rise from your place in the endless grid and start a fire. Despite your visibility, they don't see you, for you are just a piece of empty canvas, atop which a masterpiece was painted with invisible oil. You once resided in an exhibit, not different from Exhibit 13, but it was erased. It went up in flames and you made it out alive. You had no choice but to become like Frankenstein and live somewhere in the desolate wasteland, watching everyone else. No one but the one who created you will come looking for you. Even then, you might just destroy everything with your hideous appendages. Just like yesterday, you get up in time to get to work and complete the day; but you sit turning a wheel indefinitely, watching the hours rot on and your bones get sapped of their strength. The dormant has become dominant once again. Even if it's for an hour or two, that dormant splinter will drive you to atrocities until you burn to ashes... ...or fall asleep...and await its reawakening.

No, I am not dead. Yes, I am still a brony. I have changed since I left this place last year. My brain chemistry has been stabilized for the most part. No, I do not consider myself a member of this community any more. I have found that the smaller and quieter the fandom is, the calmer I am. I just happened to bump into this place again, following a small trail of bread crumbs, so to say. Good night. //Disconnect

Ironic. I was just pulled out of a deep dark depressive hole today, which is now technically yesterday. Academic success and clear skies for me whilest everyone else is down and dead. Unfortunately, I'm not a prominent member of this community so I might not be much help here. Anyone who just needs someone to talk to can PM me or hit me up on Skype. I very much prefer the latter, as I personally think it feels more isolated and controlled.