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"Unfortunate" doesn't begin to describe my disdain at these results, the vod tracking game rewards blind luck, being japanese, and nothing else, I am beyond convinced at this point. After getting completely tooled by Susan changing algorithms and view tracking at the last minute and refusing to provide the guaranteed vod views within the first few hours of the songs being released on youtube, losing this way somehow felt even worse than I had thought possible. The mindshare was superior, the number of subs and global appeal were superior, and we lost, so I don't see a reason to continue engaging in an activity where what is within our control is overwhelmingly outweighed by what is not. I am done with tracking numbers to this extent, and you all won't get a fond farewell. /#/ is infected to its roots with a degenerative disease that grows stronger over time but stops short of killing its host. We used to have a joyful time watching the horse races, waiting and seeing if VOD views would accelerate, but this has been transplanted and replaced with an artificial organ that feeds on vitriol and mockery from insecure last samurai that heckle by the sidelines and tear each other to shreds over scraps of attention.
The environment we fostered has trapped us all like this in a vicious cycle, and escaping it requires acceptance of the harshest reality we all scramble to explain away, that none of the countless straining efforts we put ourselves through here will ever amount to one single shining glimmer of significance. I would normally make this the end, but Holofes is coming up and I would never leave my fellas out to dry, so I'll suffer through a few more months for them. One last thing before I leave you all to react with disdain, ridicule, and self-righteous fervor, before you do everything to minimize my words and thoughts, box them up and shove them to some cobwebbed corner of your memory, and hope they disappear forever as a stain on your finite time ground to dust. From this moment on, nothing you say matters to me. The foulest insults you hurl with intent to wound will calmly settle at the earth before my feet, and the venom you spit will bring all the pain of a warm summer breeze. You are less than anything you can conceive, while I carry on, brimming with joy distilled from detachment.
