Wednesday, June 29, 2016

NONE OF THIS IS MADE UP

You don't
have to

pretend anymore.

Blink once,
twice,

whatever—boom.
You're in a

grocery store, you're in some
all-night

diner smoking and
bull-

shitting, you're
at the gym, sitting

in a movie
theater—it doesn't

matter. Everything
overlaps.

Music is being
piped in already—"It's a

long way
to the top

if you wanna rock
and roll." Everything is

measured,
labeled, neatly

chunked,
temperature-

controlled
and manageable.

And you're afraid
even to

cry—tears
so real

and so
artificial

as light
as flavored

CO2 bubbles,
but lacking

that fizzy
pizazz

and pressure

of the
real thing:

constant one-
upmanship.

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