#2. Nobody Here
The first thing you'll read on Nobody Here is "I'd like to apologize for all this." And since that's a phrase usually found at the top of suicide notes, you know right off the bat you're in for a treat. Despite that, the site seems harmless enough. You see a silhouette of a man at a computer with a list of words on his right and a sentence or two to his left. Scrolling through the words changes the sentence, and clicking on a word leads to a new page. That's where the fun begins.
If there was a bottle of bourbon on the floor it would actually look a lot like my home office.
The first word is "pool," and we're told that "pool is home to a band-aid." This is not a lie:
Oh hey, there it is.
Why the pool is home to a Band-Aid or why we should care about its plight isn't covered. But if you drag the Band-Aid around, it produces the message, "I belong among people like a band-aid in a pool." What a disgusting way to tell us you need a hug.
Let's move on to "eyeball," because why would that word ever lead to terror? Indeed, we're treated to a page of bouncing eyeballs staring at us with their unblinking gaze. Watching us. Judging us.
Eyeballs and pools? This is starting to look like a really weird Breaking Bad fan page.
Look, there are only two kinds of people who collect pictures of eyeballs: serial killers and people who are too out of shape to be serial killers. And we're just getting started. Astute readers will note that there's a link on that page. Let's see where it goes ...
OOOOK. That's a bit of a downer. From here we can visit/escape to one of two destinations: one that's simply labeled "tired of complaining" and one where a rat rolls onto its back and performs an autopsy on itself. To the designer's credit, it requires a lot of focus to put together a website like this while the captives in your basement are screaming for help.
Remember, that's all the result of clicking on just one of the dozens of words on the main page. Thankfully, they don't all induce depression and internal debates about whether to call the police. Some, like "supermarket," lead to little stories about buying potatoes. Others, like "gum," lead to the incomprehensible.
Actually, cataloging gum is another sign that the creator may be a serial killer.
Click through as many words as you want, but you'll find little in the way of a coherent theme beyond a vague sense of unease and increasing concern for the creator's mental health. He claims he only wants to "express myself using animation, text, and programming," but then you click on "reality" and find that his version of it is an animation where you help ants dismember a bug.
If you click around long enough, you'll find pictures of your naked corpse filed under "beauty."
Larry Carlson really wants you to meditate. Wait, sorry, he wants you to medijate, which is like meditating, except instead of relaxing and finding inner peace, you recoil at strange noises and find your inner seizure sufferer.
At first glance it looks like your typical site made by a hippie who wasn't lucid enough to pay attention during design class. You can make a tree dance-sway while gentle music plays and words like "heal" flash on the screen. It's all Zen and shit.
At least this designer found work after they stopped making Trapper Keepers.
But then, like characters in a horror movie who have been invited into the killer's home, you begin to notice problems. The creepy voice briefly chanting behind the music. The messages spelled out in the flickering words, like "I know it hurts be brave." The eyes at the base of the trees that blink as if trying to kill you with Morse code alone.
The hills have low-res, badly-pasted-in eyes.
Then, against your better judgment, you venture deeper into the site by clicking one of the words at the bottom. Probably "free digital love," because that sounds like something you can masturbate to. It is not.
Icons hidden behind the other circles include a cartoon bomb, the Spider-Man logo, and the bad guy symbol from Star Wars. Just like in a real meditation room!
Each link is a twisted mockery of what it promises. "Good vibes" leaves you feeling unsettled. The friendly greeting of "aloha" introduces you to a chanting, flashing skull monster that will never say goodbye, for it will haunt your nightmares long after the page is closed.
Are you at peace with yourself yet?
The only page that lives up to its name is the Medijate Mind Melter, and that's because it's designed to murder epileptics. I looked at it for about 15 seconds, and the image of strobing snowflakes exploding out of a screen somehow overrode the image of my grandparents having sex that I thought would be forever burned into my retinas.
Most of the pages have more nonsensical words scrolling by than the Fox News ticker. It's like Larry Carlson is trying to send subliminal messages but doesn't know what "subliminal" and "message" mean. Medijate is filled with endless motifs of eyes accompanied by rejected X-Files themes and spoken phrases, like "They blow their spirit onto you." If you fed someone alphabet soup and poison, they would vomit clearer messages than this website. The more time you spend on Medijate, the less it, or life in general, makes sense. But at least Carlson offers us an "about" page to explain his madness:
So, I guess that clears that up.