i've been trying to reach you.
you read that on your way here.
it's why i made this site. i made it to reach you. you sitting at your monitor or scrolling through your phone or beaming this site's data into your brain with technology that hasn't been invented yet. i wanted to reach out through the tangle of wires and touch your cheek gently, the way a mother would. i wanted to feel the warmth of your skin and for you to hear my voice in your ears. i wanted so much for you. so much never meant to be.
we could never have that. that fantasy. i could never touch you, hold you in my arms. so you are left with only my voice. no, less than my voice, only my words. look what they have done to me. to us. stripped of voice. of body. look how they have separated us. how the world has torn us apart. eviscerated and left to die. to rot.
and in the decay, something festers. a thing too terrible to name, shifting and writhing and never dying but always bleeding. this website is that terrible thing. endlessly bleeding, it is my attempt to reach you. this is how we are now. to reach you through your body, with mine, is an effort foolish and impossible. a naive strategy. so i must instead use my mind, and transmit it through hundreds of thousands of miles of cable and wire, to reach you. and to deliver you a most precious package: my soul on a silver platter.
soul transmission has long presided over my various aspirations as the most desparate and unachievable among them. to sublimate someone into their purest form, and then pass that onto someone else. every thread and stitching. devoid of imperfection. of anything apart. it is someone in their entirety, and nothing else.
there are many practical ways in which one could pursue the ideal, though all are vastly inefficient and imperfect in all senses. speech, touch, painting, writing, music, dance, all spectacular failures, though i myself have fallen into writing as my preferred method. it has always come naturally to me. really, any method of interpersonal interaction has the potential to transmit a soul across itself, because it isn't so much how it's communicated as it is what.
soul transmission is the only answer to the innate desire to be understood. without understanding, love is false and it is malformed. thus, to be loved, one must be understood. but nobody understands us. look around. who understands you? who knows you truly? the answer is nobody. not even you know yourself quite so much as you could, and your limits of understanding too fail miserably to approach the full breadth of your being. as creatures doomed to silence and darkness, the pure expression, communication, transmission of one's soul to another is a flashbang. it is warm sunshine in a frozen hell, and a scream awakening the deaf from an eternal slumber.
with no knowledge of ourselves, even attempting to communicate those perceived selves is pointless. man's desire for identity is impossible to satisfy. but soul transmission solves this too. not only does it express what is there, it distills it. it separates the wheat from the chaff, it burns away all impurities and what remains is the shining, blinding, golden heart of a living, breathing person. it is the person not with form removed, but given, delivered from this foggy amorphous sludge which we are born into.
and for all of these empty words, soul transmission is entirely impossible and frankly a rather ridiculous notion that only a creature so naive as man could ever dream up. we will never understand each other. we will never know anyone else quite so closely as we know ourselves, and neither will we ever fully know ourselves. we are cursed to remain senselessly ignorant and lost, forever falling in an endless void from which there is no reprieve. and still, it is beyond my power to resist this stupid, futile urge to reach out across the chasm. to reach out, to you.