Breakfast

To get here -

to get to not-normal-agreement, that is,

to get here -

to get to a suffocating absence of dissent, among a group that would otherwise express variations of uniformity of minds or mindedness, that is,

to get here -

to get to indiscriminate conformity, is

not to get to universality or unity.

Breakfast

At the same time that what's real is actually material and tangible and invariable - not only is not everybody's reality 'material' and 'tangible' - not everybody's reality is 'invariable'.

Let's make believe for a minute,

so we can see what we cannot...

Brad

Brad doesn't sit at a table for breakfast. What would be the point, anyway? The counter is civilized enough for the single solitary rock that is his daily portion.

As he moves his gravel from left to right, letting it roll across his tongue, he seethes. A rock for breakfast! What kind of dream? What kind of promise? What kind of bullsh_t is this kind of prosperity?

At work, he adopts the glassy personality of a drone. Why bother being anything else? It's only a matter of time before he's 'reduced' because another another another faceless 'efficiency officer' de-prioritizes his goddamn dignity. An app calculates his productivity stats. and chirps. to advise him of evidence-based tips! to be a stand-out! Seriously. What the

f_____ck.

Donny

Donny couldn't ask for more. an embroidered linen napkin. a glittering polished knife and a glittering polished fork. a stupidly luxurious cut of filet melting onto his tongue. Such breakfast is an indescribable pleasure.

As he gazes through the brilliantly clear panes of glass that overlook a breathtaking blue beyond, he is overcome with fervid feeling. A steak for breakfast! This kind of prosperity is everything!

His smile is wide. his step is light. As he passes by drones and drones and drones en masse to their places of employment. as he passes by floors and floors. as he passes by offices. Until he is softly enveloped in the plush cocoon that is his refuge of productivity. A melodic voice chimes like a reverie. It could be his lovely assistant. or his digital aide. It would hardly matter! It always! gushes with good news! like an irrepressible geyser. Incredible.

Life!

Brad

Brad doesn't know another life. But he suspects that what he doesn't know is the secret to something more. And he's not alone. he's not alone. he's not alone.

There is something. and there. and there is more. and more. and unbelievably! miraculously! the truth! His whole life and the truth: there. Lurking at the fringes of frustration. If only he'd felt its hot breath like his own heartbeat sooner. known it earlier. because

then. he'd've been something. he'd've been something more than nothing, swallowing hope whole, because the lies told him to. he'd've been free.

and alive.

with blood dripping from his incisors.

Donny

Donny sometimes pinches himself. Not because he doesn't deserve everything. every dollar every quarter every dime every penny. No. no. no.

Donny sometimes pinches himself because nobody'd ever told him how absurdly random the plan would be. how a right instead of a left. a yes instead of a no. would write a yellow brick road into existence. for him. for him. for him.

Nobody'd ever told him how it'd feel. to obsessively mine blind corners. shadows. portents. for an axe. for him. for him. for him. because the plan

follows its own rules. keeps its own guidance. and dammit! takes! 

with no more warning than it gives. gives. gives.

If not to secure the future against every imagined specter that would hiss and cackle and erupt into nightmares writ in flames, what is any of it for? if not to see, crowned and glorious and bulletproof, that

he rises.

and grains of sand do not.

Brad

The key to transformation, as they say, is to open your eyes. break the fog. banish the sluggard scripts that shackle you to a demeaning reality that is not real. not real. not real. because the truth is something you dive into like a child on a cliff, repudiating mortality.

this is running with a pack.

this is chasing lemons with shots of vinegar and laughing.

Brad doesn't sit at a table for breakfast. He paces. Grinding a piece of gravel between his molars. At work, he cloaks a swelling appetite behind a restless smoke of coiled obscurity. Because

he is feral.

he is predatory. 

Pay attention, as the say, for snakes will strike because they are ready

weapons.

Donny

There are limits to power, wealth, influence. ha ha ha. But there are no limits to more tomorrow than yesterday. and more tomorrow. and more. 

Donny walks the labyrinth of his mind like a rose of machination will reveal its innermost secret in the wake of his resolute tread. petal by petal. heel by heel. yes. yes. yes! Though nameless foes demand his defeat like fractious animals, he is the hunter!

Donny's smile is authentic-adjacent behind spectacularly false veneers. When he is finally without ceremony, ensconced in his unapologetically hermetic sanctuary from pathetic mindless blobs provoked into ungrateful clucking,

he boils over like a simmering tantrum hitting its banal crescendo.

How dare! he spits. he splutters. How dare! he rattles with vibrating fury. How dare he be denied a thing!

Fin

Brad and Donny are not 'universal'. nor do they represent any kind of 'unity'. But in their world, they are and they do. Because their world 'exists' - not because their reality is what's real - but because their reality is what they make believe. And who's to say - make believe is not

the truth in disguise.

Epilogue

There is a rigid. hard-line. fiction about loyalty. Likewise, faith. 

That would the abandonment of rationality and reason 'be' 'rational' and 'reasonable' and 'normal'. Because this is what loyalty demands. what faith means.

Never mind the reality of the wrongness of clear-eyed repudiation of rationality and reason 'being' 'rational' and 'reasonable' and 'normal'. Never mind the insane dictatorial throughline of narratives that measure loyalty. that define faith. as absurdly as fantasies. 

Because how wrong you are willing to be should not be a measure of how loyally loyally loyal you are. Likewise, bearing false witness should not be a measure of how faithfully faithfully faithful you are.

That this is the rigid. hard-line. lunacy that justifies a terrible 'loyalty'. a dishonest 'faith'. begs the question: what is it all for? and: at what cost?

Because if it's all for the truth - then the truth cannot be the cost.

M