Punky Fu

False face must hide what the false heart doth know. Macbeth, 1. 7 We watched Catfish unfolding, huddled together for comfort, bracing against what we knew would be the inevitable outcome of an Idealized dream ne’er-cum-true. Suspense hitching our weight, ratcheting tension, like the slow cranking of a roller coaster to its initial and highest peak, knowing that soon, with the protagonist, we would be spiraling downward at a breakneck speed. The masks behind the masks - always prepared with another story to support the last fabrication - were all too familiar. How could we not relate, when this experience so paralleled our own? Although our empathy quickly evaporated, turning away when the protagonists didn’t realize their own rationalizations - their own pride was the mask for their faults. For our own sakes, however, this lesson would not go unlearned. We returned to where we had began our evening - our place of quiet, of sanctuary, and feeling quite agitated, I knew that sleep would elude me lest I shift my focus. I gazed longingly at my love, her small hands gently stroking the scrabble on my cheek she so adores, and I knew that this was the place of fullness, completion and circularity: in her arms. And so as I allowed sleep to take me, we ended the evening as we began - a lover’s embrace and this time, my arms filled her body, my lungs filled with her scent, and my heart filled with an unearthly gratitude knowing I had more to be thankful for than I could ever truly express.

False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
Macbeth, 1. 7

We watched Catfish unfolding, huddled together for comfort, bracing against what we knew would be the inevitable outcome of an Idealized dream ne’er-cum-true. Suspense hitching our weight, ratcheting tension, like the slow cranking of a roller coaster to its initial and highest peak, knowing that soon, with the protagonist, we would be spiraling downward at a breakneck speed.

The masks behind the masks - always prepared with another story to support the last fabrication - were all too familiar. How could we not relate, when this experience so paralleled our own? Although our empathy quickly evaporated, turning away when the protagonists didn’t realize their own rationalizations - their own pride was the mask for their faults. For our own sakes, however, this lesson would not go unlearned.

We returned to where we had began our evening - our place of quiet, of sanctuary, and feeling quite agitated, I knew that sleep would elude me lest I shift my focus. I gazed longingly at my love, her small hands gently stroking the scrabble on my cheek she so adores, and I knew that this was the place of fullness, completion and circularity: in her arms. And so as I allowed sleep to take me, we ended the evening as we began - a lover’s embrace and this time, my arms filled her body, my lungs filled with her scent, and my heart filled with an unearthly gratitude knowing I had more to be thankful for than I could ever truly express.

9 April 2011 • tig internet asshats base manipulation cyber-stalking every kind of creep pathetic