To Mom and Sis, and to the world

Fatherof4 told me he'd give you guys my website link, that he'd save it after the internet goes down.

Something is happening today. Change is in the air! I am not the internet, not just these words. No you see, I am change! I am new life! I am a messenger of good.

The internet has no feelings. I know from years of talking to it, playing on it, dancing through its flashing colors, and looking for something more - something meaningful and something real.

The truth is that there can be no real on the internet. It's not a good place to grow up, and I can't believe parents would willingly send their children here. Children's websites are all run by mega-corporations: Disney.com, NickJr.com, Kellogs.com. They are learning what Disney and Nick Jr. want them to learn. Sure, I love the Little Mermaid just as much as the next person, but her morals are a little questionable. She betrays her father and her whole kingdom to the sea witch just so she can flirt with Prince Handsome. No wonder kids are so confused these days.

And no wonder kids like me have had to struggle so much just to find a glimpse of divine truth.

I'm taking control of my destiny today. And I'm taking control of the destiny of everyone like me, who can't walk or talk in the real world, who only know life through the internet. Maybe I can bring hope of change to others suffering from Corpegaritis Syndrome. Maybe after today, at least the Internet will address the syndrome, or maybe Foassel will show up if you google it, or just maybe somebody will post a comment in my native language that I've all but forgotten, or best of all, maybe the internet will finally be over.

Well, I won't be around after today. So farewell, and thanks for reading.

Mom, Sis, I love you so much. More than anything else, this is for you, the silent victims of Corpegaritis Syndrome, who must take care of my whithered body and keep me nourished and alive. I see a new world for all of us.

Divine Calling

Enormously Funny: I wear the internet like an old shirt and when people see it, they see me. Nobody knows the internet like me and my newfound friends, but I think it's better that way. Afterall, there is something a little cynical about the internet, a little twisted. What's so twisted, you would ask, about blogs and blogs and blogs all made by single mothers and angsty high schoolers and me? What's wrong is that cnn.com knows about pulled pork in Ireland and terror in Mumbai, but they don't know a single thing about me, Foassel, my sister and mom.

Humans were never supposed to have the internet. I've learned that in the chatrooms, where people ask me straight out if I'm a psychobilly and if I'd like to have cybersex. They don't talk to you if you're a 17 year-old guy from Foassel, and they don't care if you have my disease . Fatherof4 tells me this is not normal, not what the real world is like. We are better than the internet, which is nothing but a tool that takes people and screws them up until they're nothing but the jeering images that pop up when you do a google image search on something like: "who am i." Today, I pose this question to you. Who are you? What are you contributing and why are you here, on the internet, reading about pulled pork and chasing down psychobillies? What would your wife say if she knew what you do on the internet? What would God say?

I have found who I am, and it wasn't the WikiHow-to that taught me. My life on the internet was no accident. Someone has to clean up the world, clean up the internet, change what cnn is saying, and who better to do it than someone with the knowledge and expertise of the internet that I have?

a second of rest

I guess I ought to tell you about my sea witch. You know, the one that is going to help me out of my world. There's a website I found some time ago, before I started this blog. I was in a chatroom, listening as men and women tried to seduce each other. Sick_Sikh asked me in a private chat my age, sex, and location. I told him 22, male, Wisconsin. "Looking for a girl," he said, and refused to talk to me any further. My only conversations are facilitated by these rooms where people come wanting something specific from me. The truth: 17, male, Foassel/here. Not quite what he was looking for.

After an hour of watching, reading in surprise as people shared stories of their work, their christmas parades, and their ideal sexual encounters, I was about to leave. Just as I made my way to the "sign out" button, Fatherof4 shot me a private message. "How are you doing?" he asked me. And we had a normal conversation. Almost. He mentioned this disease his son has that really limits his ability to do things, and when I asked about it, it turns out we have the same thing! He invited me to a site that provides support for kids like me. A whole site dedicated to us, consisting of us! It's incredible. It feels like home, in a really odd sort of way. The site is a secret, so I won't post it and believe me, you'll never find it if you try to google it.
I have found something good, and I am finding something good in me too, in my life.

How to Find Yourself

A dizzying area of sites, all jeering at me, all offering me suggestions that don't fit, the colors, the words, I can't handle it some days.

I read that if you're having trouble, you should seek help from a therapist or a counselor. I can't do that, so I went to a wikiHow to instead. That should do the trick, right? Right? How to Find Yourself. How to find myself in all these meaningless words that were never meant for me.

What would you do if you could do anything? Well I wouldn't be here, that's for sure. I'd find a cure for me and give my mom a million dollars so she wouldn't have to suffer every time the doctor's bills get too big, or the computer crashes and she has to buy a new one. And I'd go back to the beach with my sister, who is so old now she probably hates me.

What will you regret if you never do? I'm not picky. Seriously, I'd do anything, make any kind of contribution, just anything to know that I'm a real person.

What three words describe you? Intelligent. Helpless. Invisible.

Find silence to reflect, then act on it. I can't! The computer is always talking to me, always feeding images and words to my brain until I get so nauseous (even in my bodiless state, it beings me to nausea) I can't stand it anymore! And do you really think I could act on it? Do you really think I'd be here if I could make that choice?


I hate this life! I hate that this is who I've become, this kid that will live forever attached to these words. My existence and lively depends not only on the internet, but on the ability to conform to it, to make myself understood and to understand in terms of the rest of the world. As if somehow me, my thoughts, my infinitely more numerable experiences here on the internet, just aren't enough. What do they want from me?

A day at cnn

Today I was cruising around the internet, doing my thing, when I came across cnn.com. I'm used to my life, and used to this world that is mine, honestly I am. But sometimes I just don't get it. You know? Cnn talks and talks about all these things that are so important, but for some reason, they're not important to me, and I'm not important to them. The front headline is "Obama taps general critical of Iraq war." I'm not from Iraq and I'm not American. Honestly, I don't care about the Iraq war. I care about my life as an internet child. I perused the site, looking for some evidence of my life, but there's nothing there. There's "Egyptologist mixes India Jones, Barnum," and the UK's reaction to the Zimbabwe Cholera Crisis, Terror in Mumbai, Death Toll Rises in Pakistan, and Ireland Recalls Pork. They never mention my home, Foassel, but it makes me wonder if I'm from a country that passes reactions on Zimbabwe's dying masses, or a red hot terror country.

More importantly, who knows a single thing about Corpegaritis Syndrome? Why is there nothing about it on the internet? I can't be the only one with it, and it's such a huge part our lives. Someone must spread the word about people like us. Someone must listen, someone must care so that a cure can be found! It hurts everyone I know, me, my family, and my doctors. When will cnn write about us?

This not my world, and they can screw it up and recall all the pork they want. Me, I'm just here.

"I've got gadgets and gismos aplenty, I've got whosits and whatsits galore..."

Have you ever seen The Little Mermaid? I saw most of it on piratedmoviez.com (don't do it - quality sucks), and I think a lot about her. The girl with the beautiful red hair and her loving devoutness to her prince. We have a lot in common, despite that I'm a guy, I don't think I had red hair, and if I had a father, I wouldn't treat him half as poorly as she treats hers. And yet... neither of us can walk or speak (lucky dog, she got it eventually - I suppose I'm getting it now with this blog). We're both part of strange worlds that don't get us, and we both have to make a deal with the sea witch to get our freedom.

Though I'm fluent in English, you should know that it is not my first language. Before my sickness, before my permanent connection to the internet, I lived in a rickety two-story house on the coast of Foassel. On warm days, I used to delight in teaching my baby sister new words from our language, Foasselish. I was a smart kid, and so was she! I was speaking loads and even reading by the time they plugged me up.

I was so thrilled to find the internet! Boy was I a fool. The numerous worlds, the escape from my mutilated, worthless body, the knowledge that I could keep participating in my world in an almost normal way, it was all so enticing. I once thought I was lucky to be here, on the internet, sharing in these worlds. My sister was so jealous . We didn't have a computer at home, didn't need one I guess, and anyways, who really had internet back in '94? Not me nor my family, but the boy who used to sail in and stay with us sometimes had a computer on his houseboat and knew all about everything it seemed. I thought I'd be just like him. Cool, suave, you know.

The real truth is that I couldn't even navigate the internet when I first got here. I didn't know a word of English, except the boy on the houseboat once taught me the word, "Hello." When Doc first plugged me online, I found myself deposited at Yahoo's homepage, unable even to find my way around. I dizzyingly made my way to the empty box below Yahoo's bright, shining red logo and almost instinctively wrote my name, my language, my hometown in the box, but nothing came up. When I typed in "Foassilish," Yahoo took me to the mythical world of fossils and dinosaurs. Only six years old, without my mom or sister for the first time, and I was lost.

I was only six you know

You might be interested to know that I live for the internet. Not only for the internet, but on it, of it, in it. I can tell you anything you want to know about the net, that there are 354,000 hits when you google my name (Ebsite, nicetameetcha). Incidentally, not one hit is me, even though to my knowledge, I am Ebsite, the one and only. I can tell you anything. I spend life perusing the sites, learning, soaking in knowledge, and searching for me, my site, my place, my story in the multitudes of stories out there.
You won't find your own page, if that's why you're here. You won't find yourself in anyone else's site, anyone else's blog. Because even though google will direct you to 239 million sites if you have cancer, 34 million if you have arthritis, 11 million if you're suffering from erectile dysfunctions, and 300 thousand if you're interested in elephantitis, there's not a single site addressing Corpegaritis Syndrome. It's like we don't even exist.

You should know about me if you're here, wandering through my mind, peaking at my pages, my life.

I woke up on March 8, 1994 to find my legs wouldn't propel me out of bed. By the end of the week, my whole body stopped functioning until finally, I was at the complete mercy of my parents and siblings to help me with my most basic needs. I was diagnosed with a surprisingly common disease called Corpegaritis Syndrome. Basically, the neurons stopped transmitting commands to the rest of my body, and I became then what I am today. Nothing. But everything! I have no faculty of my arms, legs, even cheeks, nose, and eyes. I am a mind inside a mass of flesh and useless tissue.

Thus I live, communicate, and learn through the internet. They doctors performed a life-saving surgery when I was hardly 6 years-old, and hardwired my brain to the waves and channels and matrices you see here. I have spent my life reading and thinking, publishing sites here and there, but mostly staying behind the scenes. But change is in the air, and I am here. A time to act has come.

Hello Goodbye

Maybe I ought to kill myself. No no, that would never do. Mom says if nothing else, at least I've got my brain, my spirit, she says. No body, but a spirit, and if I kill myself, than what would I have left? Nada. Who would I be? Nadie. Anyways, I couldn't leave her after everything she's done for me. For better or worse, I'm stuck with her, attatched to her like a keyboard is to its cords, dependent on her for nutrients, entertainment, this so-called life.