They Fake It


Children, unsupervised, brush chlorine into bedraggled winks, stabbing the corners of their smiles with toothpicks, claiming the pain instigates nostalgia for an empty uterus. Puddles shimmer as swollen toes compel ripples to distort the reflection of swollen toes. The process of reflection and ripple prompts a loop of action to continue endlessly until the purpose of recurrence dissipates from the sun’s violent lift. What lingers in the clouds is the purpose of before, but what belongs in the now isn’t the essence of recurrence instead it’s a recycling of then to now. This ensures the now is what’ll happen as an absolute of the past inching toward the future. The now never exists. The now contains the past but never the future, but never exists singularly. Often the things that exist singularly aren’t unique because they occur often. Examples of a singular thing are so bland they deserve a violent metaphor, like enjoying the opportunity to cut hair, envisioning the follicles have nerve endings causing an infliction of pain upon each slice, or sleeping with the enemy. This is how singular things commit themselves to boredom while sustaining from suicide due to a lack of excitement. They fake it.

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