We live in a world where people are defined by what they like and what they don’t like.

Those who find questions in how we are all classified are plunged into isolation, and fear, because what they believe to be their cores are not easily identified categories that machines can connect and match with others who should somehow provide the meaning they struggle to find in their apparently empty and illusory depths.

If our feet can’t touch the ground no one else’s can do it for us. We must think of others as companions and not as substitutes for what we think we lack but in reality simply can’t find the tools to discover.

The internet is one such substitute, and it’s worse because it’s not even human. It isn’t just a personal delusion; it is a virtual delusion in itself. The internet makes me feel cheap and whored. In this web I am just another number, another number to be cliked and favoued for a fleeting instant. No one can grab me and I can’t grab myself and that scares me.

So I’m leaving indefinately. I’m going to fight and get bruised by the real world because I’m tired of hurting myself in this fictional world. All my work will now only be available through my zine. At least you can hold it in your hands; it’s not just pixels on a screen.

I’ve met good people, and bad people, and I want to keep in touch with some of you. So please email me, and if you have my home address write me a letter. Those will always be replied to and cherished.

Take care everyone,
Sara B.