WHAT? WHAT DO YOU MEAN, MR-SO-CALLED VIRUSWITHSHOES? ARE YOU THREATENING TO SHUT DOWN WORDSMOKER AGAIN YOU GRUMPYFUCK?

No.

No, I say.

I say “No.”

And “no” again.

No.

And at the risk of sounding negative – no.

See. It’s been nearly four years, Dear Reader.

It’ll be four years of Wordsmoker come December 2012.

Four years where Wordsmoker’s existed on the kindness of pseudo-strangers. Or virtual friends. Four years where I’ve intermittently posted electrobegs on this place, asking for your hard-earned to pay for hosting and the upkeep of my yachts.

Well. The joke’s on you, because I don’t have any yachts. I MADE THEM UP! ALL YOU WERE DOING WAS PAYING THE HOSTING BILLZ YOU DUMMIES. HAHAHA. I MADE UP “HAVING YACHTS” IN MY HEAD! IT WAS ALL FICTITIOUS, LIKE MITT ROMNEY!

And now even that has to come to an end. All that electrobegging and yacht-pretending.

It finishes today.

*wipes single tear from rugged man-cheek*

*stares into the distance, clears throat*

Today’s the last day I’ll ever ask for donations for Wordsmoker. The hosting bill’s about due, and whatever you give will make sure this place stays alive on the internet until January 2013.

And by January 2013, Dear Reader, Wordsmoker will be owned by a not-for-profit located in Scotland, with off-shoots in New York, Los Angeles, and maybe Canada, we’ll see how that goes, it’s Canada after-all.

It’s a momentous day. This one.

It’s July 17, 2012, btw.

Let’s make a note of this in our pretend diaries, shall we?

And this is a pretty momentous post if I have to admit. And I have to admit it.

After this final electrobeg, no more.

I mean – you can still donate some hard-earned. But the donations won’t be going straight to the hosting company like an eel with a purpose. They’ll be going direct to charity, baby. And you’ll be able to claim tax-deductions from it, if that’s your bag. And that charity will be paying the hosting billz and everything will be golden, man, and the sun will shine every day and your partner will finally do that thing you’ve been begging them to do for a while now, the thing with the thing? With the harness? That thing. It won’t match your fantasy and you might get arrested and maybe pull a muscle in your lower back, but hey, what doesn’t these days?

But enough of you pleasuring your partner on a sex-swing outside a Dennys while a bus of octogenarians stare on with shock and no-little amount of envy. Let’s take stock of what is – come December 2012 – four years of Wordsmoker.

Let’s just do that right now, Dear Reader.

*sips stock*

What I Learned From Wordsmoker, by VirusWithShoes

What I’ve learned over the past four years “doing Wordsmoker” is that there are good people out there. Good people whom I might never meet, although I do plan to meet them all one day and maybe film that meeting in monochrome on a Red camera. Good people who only know me from the psycho-dribble I spew out onto the internet in various disguises. Good people who want to help other good people, just because it’s in their DNA, or because they’re just good people if you don’t put your trust in nature but in nurture, just like what I do.

And you know the thing about good people I’ve learned?

Good people do good things.

I know. Whodathunkit?

I’ll also admit this. I consider myself a “good” man. I like to walk about and smoke and drink a lot of tea with a clear conscience. I consider myself a good man in bad times, because being a “good” man in bad times is the ultimate fuck-you to all the bad in this world.

If I’m being honest (which I also try to be all the time, even to my own detriment) one day I’d like to be known as one of the “best” of men, but that’s a story for another day yet to come.

Speaking of best – the past four years haven’t been my best, but I’ve seen the best in other people.

In good people. You know. The ones I just mentioned up there?

Them.

These good people have shown me kindness and patience. They’ve shown me care. They’ve worried when I’ve gone through rough periods. They’ve called me and poked me and questioned me and stuck by me when I’ve been suicidal. They’ve supported me in any way they could, because they’re good people and that’s what good people do.

I know this for a fact. I was there and saw it happen.

The past four years could’ve broken me – made me less-good – if it wasn’t for these good people.

God knows I’ve been tempted to be bad. To say “fuck it, why bother, it truly is exhausting, dammit, get me soup and get off my lawn”.

Because that’s what the Bad in this world wants you to be.

The Bad wants to drag you down, to be the only voice whispering in your ear, telling you that there’s no use in being good, that there’s no hope. That there’s no use in being good because look at all the bad around you, it’s the done thing now, you fucking Scottish hippie socialist chain-smoking prick. Fit in with the bad, you fuck. Why bother being good in a world that tries continually to make you feel and act bad? Lookit all the bad folks and all the fun they’re having doing the bad stuff, dickface – now get with the programme and start fucking people over, it’s what people do, dontchaknow?

Well, fuck you, Bad.

Fuck you, and not in the nice way.

I beat you, Bad. I beat you good.

I had Wordsmoker. And good people.

I have Wordsmoker. And good people.

And it was – and is – Good.

 

What is this place we legally call “Wordsmoker”? This little corner of the web your donations have kept going for nearly four years? Well, Dear Reader – it’s a place where writers – many of whom have not written before – can reach a wider-audience. A world-wide audience to be exact. It’s where the voiceless can have a voice. It’s where a writer can flex and build the writing muscle. It’s where you can shout and scream and rail against the bad in the world using your typing boards and computer boxen. It’s a vessel of freedom for open thought.

A little ship of Good.

Wordsmoker has good in its DNA.

This place wasn’t started to make millions. I originally pitched this to other good people because I was tired of reading how funny and smart good people were in secret on Facebook. I never even considered making money off of this place, which – in retrospect – is just as well. To give these other good people their dues, none of them even mentioned that – the “making money” thing. I just wanted a place to write with other good, like-minded people. And that’s what I got, with their help.

With your help.

Even the time I started embedding Google Ad’s at the top of the page, I felt skeezy. I thought the Ad revenue would bring in enough hard-earned to cover the hosting costs. It doesn’t matter now that the only people making money from Google are Google shareholders, it was a lesson for me. It was my guilt at asking good people for donations that prompted it, not images of actual yachts floating in my head.

You see – I don’t want to be rich.

I’d like a lot of money, though.

You can do a lot of good with a lot of money.

More about that later.

 

Where was I before I started electrobabbling about good and bad? Oh yeah.

Wordsmoker.

To everyone who’s ever donated. To everyone who’s ever written. To everyone who’s ever commented or read or enjoyed anything here, I’m sorry, but you were doing good. I know it feels a bit strange, and I realise that maybe you didn’t know you were doing good at the time, but I apologise profusely to you and your families and pets.

You were doing good all along.

Hah! Got you!

Got you good!

You may be naughty in your own life, and maybe you even pretend to be bad to get the girls or the guys, but I’ve seen you doing good. It’s all here on Wordsmoker, you fuckers. I have evidence! I have proof! Don’t even think about deleting your posts, comments or cookies, because I have offline backups.

I caught you in my web of good! Like a big spider with shoes!

It’s 9.20am here.

It’s cloudy because it’s a Scottish Summer. Henry Cat is sleeping on my bed. I’ve done the dishes and the laundry. My mother’s sleeping because the pain keeps her up all night. I’m currently unemployed, single and smoking. I live in a housing scheme in a rough old town in Scotland where hope is usually openly scorned. There’s Bad here, but I know there’s also Good. I’ve got two four-year old PC monitors attached to my four year old PC in front of me. On the right screen I’m writing this internet drivel. On the left screen is the electric photograph of the 3000 square feet of space in my rough old town I’m going to view later on today. It’s been empty for nearly three years in a main street in a rough old town you’ve never been in that’s seen much better days. For the past year I’ve walked by it and stared at it and thought about it. I’ve day-dreamed about it. I’ve pre-visualised it. I’ve sat and worked in it in my head. And I’ve thought about the good I can do from it. Not just in my rough old town, but everywhere.

I’ve thought about how I can help others, and by helping others how they can help even more.

I have no money whatsoever to buy this place, but money – as we all know – is as made-up as my fictional yachts.

Having no money is not going to stop me buying this place.

Because I know of good in people.

Because I know of good people.

Because of Wordsmoker.

Oh, these “Goods”. I’ve learned that these magnificent bastards are practically everywhere when you come to think about it. Throw a rock and you’ll hit one. Then you’ll have to apologise to them for hitting them with a rock. Once you explain your reasoning, they’ll be fine about the rock-throwing thing. Because they’re good. They might even apologise for being in the way of the rock you’ve just thrown.

Some of them are so good it’s almost funny.

That’s not all I’ve learned. I’ve learned this. Through Wordsmoker.

Don’t let Bad tell you there’s no Good.

Bad is a good fucking liar. But Bad should never be trusted.

Ever.

Bad is just a whisper you should come to learn to ignore.

And you’ve all taught me that, Wordsmokers. No matter how prevalent the whisper becomes, no matter how sometimes it can drown out everything – including any good – it’s just a whisper in your ear after all is said and done.

That Bad you hear whispering sometimes?

It’s as real as an imaginary yacht.

 

It’s now 11.02am.

I’m crying here.

Which may come as little or no surprise to those who know me. I’m crying while writing this, wiping the tears and man-snot away on cheap kitchen paper.

They’re the best tears ever. Tears of honesty, of open-ness. Good tears, Dear Reader.

Most of all, they’re the tears of thanks.

And tears of hope.

You’ve kept me going, you fuckers.

You’ve literally and figuratively kept me alive the past nearly four years.

Unfortunately they’re the tears I’m going to have to stop soon, because I’ll look a bit freaky going to view a building I currently don’t have any money to buy, with red, puffy eyes. Shit knows I’ve looked suspicious enough over the past few weeks, what with taking multiple pictures of the exterior and generally hanging out with the staring and the chin-scratching and thinking and what-nots. I’m also sweating profusely because crying good tears or bad is pretty exhausting physically, so I’ll have a shower and shave before I leave the house and hopefully I’ll look like a normal for the rest of the day.

I’ll let you know how I get on.

 

Hey.

You want hope in this world, Dear Reader?

I give you Wordsmoker.

I give you the hope you helped create.

I give you what you continue to help achieve.

I give you the good you’ve already done, and the good you will do.

To me. For others.

For the hundreds, thousands and millions of people you’ll unwittingly help in the future. Because of this place.

Because of Wordsmoker. Just a little corner of the web you maybe happened to come across in-between perusing low-quality pornography while on a break from your shitty job.

You’ve started a Good Thing. Long may you – and it – continue.

 

You thought you had hope in 2008?

You did.

It wasn’t Obama. It was Wordsmoker.

Funny how things work out, isn’t it?

For this alone, for the Good you’ve done and the Good you helped and the Good you’ll continue to do, my mother thanks you, my cats thank you, and I thank you.

Now click the button for what’s probably the last ever time, and give what you can.

Again?

Thanks.

VirusWithShoes

 

PS – You can hold my mother accountable for all the good I’ve done and the good I’m about to do. It’s her fault. She loved books. And reading. And is a good person despite having the worst possible upbringing. So – blame her. Go on.