The celebrity machines on the march of progress. How do the people who feed this beast live with themselves. The machine is ruthless. We are the culture of ruthlessness. It has permeated every cellular structure of society. There are only two issues. What is the truth, and what is identity. I would argue that truth has left the barn and the raw spinning hatred of identity has been tracking the truth machines. The truth machines and the identity machines (one is often the other), are concomitant oddities, where Hollywood and Silicon Valley merge into an incestual relationship based upon the Adventures of the Greed Family Tree. I wrote that thing, too. Why. Why. Why do we dote on these sad homo sapiens sapiens – pretense. We love them because they know how to pretend.

We want to pretend we own the mansion. We want to pretend we drive those cars. We want to pretend that everything will be okay. Then, your brain kicks in. The best drugs are in your brain already. Who knew.

The call me the Pretend Writer. If they are looking for a reaction, I just don’t have one. Here’s my bottom line: You are who you say you are. It’s radical. It even has the pretense of offense. I believe everything on Instagram. The cultural fetish of the phone camera. What imagination. Which always tells the unfolding narrative not unlike celebrity bling goes digital and buys a pool.  Pop culture’s job is Never Over. Never over. Those Big Broadway show ads that lit my head up. Politics. It’s what we’ve got. End of narrative. I clutch my pearls, faint dead away. The idea of truth did not just go down the rabbit hole, it is the rabbit hole. It will turn on you with literary illusions. The Meat Grinder has become AI. There is no hope. There is no money. Nothing is real. And I am Marie of Romania.