Client: Cupid Media

Biggest challenge: You know those times when you start thinking it'd be a great idea to sign up for online dating sites and it's the same sort of thought that compels a smoker to reach for one last cigarette his lungs burning like a million suns that can't get into the murky darkness surrounding the fortress of reason like lugubrious paintstrokes through the water that just won't go away no matter how much you wash yourself hoping to be cleansed and you know somewhere in the rational corner of your mind that you're engaging in behavior contrary to all reasonable principles of action because your brain wants more and more of those delicious endorphins and will rationalize anything to get there like a Machiavellian control center playing your body parts against one another to get what it wants and you start to fill in the first few fields and wonder if you really want to stunt the natural process of romance through accumulation of a social network just like you want cancer in your lungs but you have that craving that addiction that perpetual devil on your shoulder telling you it's the right course of action and of course you know it isn't but all logic has fled you like you're some kind of ghost shuddering and convulsing to show them how you failed and they run and run and you're alone in a big white house vibrating their forks all in tune because you want a friend and they cast you out again and again just to see the look on your face and then it occurs to you that you were born to lose and every decision you've made has been laid out by a capricious hand like kids playing connect the dots in all the wrong ways so you sit there with your cursor blinking impatiently to tell you that it needs your data to put down all the wrong ways and feed off your desperate uncertainties of love and loneliness and dying a bitter virgin before you turn thirty and look back at each circumstance and every vicissitude and recognize that this was all meant to be and every bridge burnt behind you had a match in a hidden slot on the side for future use as part of the process of passing them and you lay there all alone in an island of text in your living room hoping and praying to gods that you don't believe in for things to work out in just the right way and you know it's a fiction and you know that the process takes time but you know that you'll sooner kill yourself than kill yourself waiting when the end result is just the same as it always was and you look up to the stars and you look up to anyone from your tiny corner on whittled legs imagining yourself hunched over and waiting to die in a nursing home somewhere in the country where you're the last person dead and no one comes to visit you every day and you wait by the phone for anything even some fucking missive about how you're the last man on earth and finally she'll kiss you now that the preconditions have been fulfilled and she gets hit by a van on the way over and you laugh and laugh and laugh because there's no other way to deal with everything that's happened and how you charted your journey through existence with every missing point guiding the way to further nothings but still that cursor is blinking like the windows to digital souls that aren't there for you because you're still clinging to your illusions of legitimacy and obvious attractiveness despite no evidence for and all the evidence against like you'd entered into the cult of Narcissus sending hymns to a dying creed of nullified divinities and you realize it would be a bad idea?

Yeah, those.

Localized version of the website (going LIVE soon!): Let there be love.