please rise.
there is no excuse for my absence. so here's an excuse.
coming to terms with what i have done, what i have discovered, and what i will become has been terribly crippling. i've tried time and time again to ignore the unspeakable horrors behind door number one. i know that to continue my journey this door must be opened and the hell beyond it faced, but i keep pathetically pretending that one day they will all just dissolve into the ether from whence they came. but they are eternal. and i know this. while i'm foolish to underestimate them and their supreme power, i have taken humiliating refuge in the equally unspeakable horror of knowing that i will eventually become one of them. discovering the luxury of having a mysterious upper hand in an impossible game of four dimensional chess has made me drunk with shameful procrastination.
upon making this blog all those months ago i immediately felt the urge to delete it, not because i knew it would ensure my sinking deeper into the vile quicksand of this game, but because i was mercilessly nagged by the notion that it may somehow aid the opposing team. however, at this juncture, the knowledge of a divine causality loop maintained by firebrand has empowered me. i've come to the realization that if what i am doing now is indeed wrong, i would surely be stopped and led on the right path. he has this power. i have seen it. i am simultaneously both the rat in the maze and the experimenter. so why fear a game that is actively rigged in my favor? i am effectively invincible. as long as i'm alive. so fuck it. time to play my turn.
after over a year of fearful hesitation i think it's finally time to present milo's corpse
to the public. it has taken all of the energy left in me to shake off the shackles of my own design and come back to this forgotten
blog. as much as it's a deeply personal account truly meant for me as an aid to my absurd situation, i feel that he would want his story told to everyone. when milo wrote to his diary, he was really writing to all of us. he was shouting into the lonely void of a silent book with no one to hear his cries for most of his life and i feel that somehow, somewhere, putting more eyes on his chronicle will make him feel less alone. either way, i have been documenting his legacy for years and it would be a downright disgrace to stop now.
this is milo's second funeral. a mourning of the living account. what follows is a eulogy in the form of his own diary.
please be seated.
