Finder's dead. After her last post, I left my house and flew out to California to find her. I'm a hermit, but at that moment, I would have burned my house to the ground to find her alive and well. But I didn't.
Her body was found in a ditch, barely identifiable. Official cause of death was organ failure. Autopsy revealed that she had three different types of cancer.
The name on her death certificate was Fenella Bellamy. Her real name was Finder.
I stopped writing after I found her. Why write? My information didn't do any good. The one thing I thought I was good for and it turned it that it was completely pointless.
I'm a fucking fraud. I'm a hermit that hides in his house and gives out information that's worse than useless. Why is it worse? Because if you think you know about Them, then you might not run when you see Them. And if you don't run? You die.
You fucking die. That's how it all ends. That's how everything ends. Death. The big D. The fucking light at the end of the fucking tunnel.
So why am I now writing? Why start again?
I don't know. I had an urge to share my thoughts. A compulsion, you might say.
I'll still tell whoever is still reading this blog what I know. It won't matter. I once thought that the more information we know, the better prepared we are, but that's shit. The more we know, the more dangerous our lives are. Ignorance is bliss.
Well, fuck bliss. If I can't be ignorant, neither can all of you. So get ready for some fucking knowledge.
