POST-TRUTH,
OR, IF YOU’VE DONE NOTHING WRONG, THEN WHY ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE CAMERAS?
you’re
not a rebel, really, not even in whatever head may be your own, and, since,
these days, nothing but the skin you wore when you stopped pretending
and
became altogether what they insist is the preferred intelligence, or seems to
be, not a shock to provoke or another stagger towards invention, armed and
angry, but simply the mass that ignores its own awakening (and though you think
you heard once or twice a bit of
resistance, people do not actually find facts
in language that they didn’t
already believe, and tend to live easily with what has been taken from them by
the sound of what they can’t hear clearly, wearing a
dark bandage over what
might be a wound, waiting to understand
how, exactly, yesterday is formed, and explains the flames not lit
tomorrow or the following
morning), is worth wandering these wilds for, you
say, fuck it, because,
