Posted: Saturday, February 20, 2010 | |

One day we wake up to a stranger, one we've known for years. There are hidden, pocketed cavities between the grey matter round-up of a brain, an infinite amount of hidden, secret hallways, staircases, and realities within one singular consciousness- within one individual psyche. As time goes on, we live together, plan together. Eat together, fuck together, shit together.

And then, one day, or on any given day that happens not so often but definitely, absurdly happens, we have the inevitable SPLINTER GROUP phenomenon: and it is definitely, absurdly easy to be confronted with a pile of skin, nerves, and viscous fluid wrapped in shitty tissue paper skin instead of the stranger we've known for years.

A shiver in the fabric of whatever reality we had imagined to be THE reality while: living together, planning together, eating together, fucking together, shitting together. In one violent burst the person is suddenly an INTERLOPER and in another thousandth of a second they are the stranger again. You go on living together, planning together, eating together, fucking together, shitting together. But the experience comes back to prod at you during the most inconvenient, obscure times.

What is there to say about the many painful but chromatic intensities (every shade from black to white and shades in between every other in between infinity) behind acts of betrayal?

At first, there was everything to say.
We lived together, we planned together, we ate together, we fucked together, we shat together and then you

After too many months of too much goddamned opacity, after an exhaustive, deflating search to find out the whys or hows of it in order to continue the previous reality, where a SPLINTER GROUP didn't constitute a normative phenomenon, where it became so OBVIOUS that the living together, planning together, eating together, fucking together, shitting together was exactly that; shitting and fucking and the basics of co-habitating and purposeful economic PLANNING and there was nothing IN BETWEEN that could be said to have been worth considering to temper your selfish SPLINTER GROUP convulsions

After that? There was nothing.

The sound of static. Tomorrow come morning, we will wake up to our stranger, and life goes on without a hair out of place on either of our living, planning, eating, fucking, shitting heads.

Et appeler un chat un chat, chatte, chatte, chatte à ses heures, cela fait passer le temps? Bon, mais ça ne me casse. C'est toujours la meme regime, rien changer. We're tired of being afraid, shocked, or the one making accusations. Je ne pas ouvrir la bouche!

c'est rien. Le plus importante est à toujours:

à bout de bras, the stranger, at all times he must be kept à bout de bras.

Today we wake up to a stranger, the one we have known and un-known, for years.


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