I hate the way this waitress stares at me.

There is a real sense of resentment in the way she stares. Her eyes are lit up and intense, sharp, full of life and joy yet devoid of even a semblance of sincerity.

Such a fraud.

Authenticity has no bearing in the year 2018. Everything positive is a mere fabrication. Beauty is a mask, a painted face. Beauty is an injection, an implant, a trick. “Love” is found whilst looking at a screen instead of a chance encounter with a person who arrests your attention, who makes the room evaporate into thin air – that feeling is no longer caught – it no longer materializes – in real life. A replica of it is brought to you through the air to a device in your hands through a mediator – from reality, to cyber-reality then to reality again.

I want to walk up to her, be honest, tell her the cold and harsh truth – you are lying. But I feel like in this day and age fiction is all encompassing – fiction and non-fiction have switched places. How am I certain that what I feel is truth if I have nothing to compare it to?

The Americanization, Hollywoodization of the West has brought with it a world of confusion, people can’t find who they are because they are constantly being told who they should be.

There is no room for truth in this world full of lies…


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