This is Janet Frame. This post is a permutation of her story, My Last Story, which was, in fact, not her last story. Click the image to read the story on Electric Literature.

I’m never going to write another blog.

I don’t like writing blogs.

I don’t like typing I read I saw or saying my endless opinion of the weird book I read, the thing it was like, a metaphor a simile and I have almost grown to hate the internet after 15 years, how I know all the office workers have 35 tabs open and are watching a video and reading an article at the same time and mentally composing a tweet about it or wondering about how Roxane Gay is going to say it better and Blake Butler is going to say it weirder or if we’re supposed to like or hate Tao Lin right now or whether or not the novel is living or dead or who cares or which author we should interview or if that galley of that novel is worth reading or reviewing and how is it that those publishers still send out all those galleys to all those people who ignore all those galleys, and that’s called work and earning a living, well I’m not going to write any more blogs like that. I’m not going to blog about author news or how publishing houses are hemorrhaging money or how eBooks are stabbing people in dark alleys or about how eBooks are Jesus or how eBooks are just Books with a little ‘e’ hanging on. I’m not going to write another blog after this one. This is my last blog.

I’m not going to write about that piece I read on another blog, another online magazine, that article that essay that story that tweet that video that everyone is talking and how can anyone figure out anything if they still have those 35 tabs open and I suppose that’s called an experience of Life.

And about San Francisco and Brooklyn and MFAs and indie publishing. I’m not going to write about my writer friends or how hard/easy/joyful/grotesque it is to think or write somedays and every few months we come across another picture of someone’s bookcase arranged by spine color and is it time for us to do that yet it seems like an awful lot of work and book readings and publicists who send out galleys without being ethical.

And even though I’ve been a contributor here since 2008 I have have written exactly no blogs for the last year and considered asking them to take me off the list, but I kept thinking The Internet The Internet, it is important but it’s like I forgot how to use it or maybe it changed or I did but I can’t really read the Internet anymore all of it just seems too noisy, too much, and most of the internet shouldn’t exist, what do I mean by should, you ask, and I say you know what I mean by should. I’m not going to write any more about the rest of the internet, the good article I was reading before I distractedly clicked away to something I didn’t like, though why on earth if you don’t like it they say.

This screen, all of you people on the other side of it, when I’m reading a book all by myself that probably no other person on the planet is reading at the same time, I think of all those people out there sharing and reading that article that blog that essay that just went up and is as warm as a newborn, but all the people, staring at screens, in the dark of their bedrooms strained eyeballs aimed at laptops, I wonder if its actually a cold place to sleep, curled around an iPhone, neck craned, scrolling.

Well I’m not going to do any more scrolling.

This is my last blog.

And I’m going to put three dots with my laptop, compulsively, and then I’m going to begin …

I’d like to find a better way of looking at Life.