It starts with this: Words are important. But I can barely remember all the things I've done and said. Sorry, world! Action figures, videogames, superhero movies, and iPods which were mine alone, which served as my inspirations: they all were unintelligent, ambiguous, and needlessly hurtful vapor floating in the atmosphere. That's my fault; I f**ed up. I deeply regret the manner in which theses events have unfolded. I'm sorry for thinking I was being serious instead of accurately realizing I was mocking you. Even though I wish I hadn't made so many of you angry, I owe it to future generations to explain why I'm not famous anymore: I looked in the mirror and said, "Grow up, Shia! No disrespect, you've got to learn from your mistakes. Stop creating!" I was alone in a very dangerous situation: I got lost in the creative process, and the ma**ive disruption it's caused. · I couldn't deny the facts, in light of the recent attacks against my artistic integrity: I lifted the text; copying isn't particularly creative work; trust is hard-earned; and I need to work on being a less controversial tweeter. Personal beliefs aside, I've let my family down. (Their lives I try to read as much as I can, and call it our culture. That way, they're immortal. We used to sit in a circle around a campfire; everything we have today that's cool comes from someone wanting more of something they loved in the past. I do not believe that in the long run this is about individuals.) I knew that it'd make a poignant, relevant short, but I want my life back. This is not a publicity stunt.