All of us together, pretending to be happy, are what we appear to be.
Short stories by Wayne K. Spear.
It has come to my attention, as a result of my inquiry, that freedom of speech is under threat. Everyone is talking about it.
Everywhere life returns to the Earth; everywhere there is romance and love and intercourse. And so I throw myself into it, with abandon, with all that I have. I have crossed the Lubicon, shouting, “Alea ejecta est!”
The word “chief” can be used as a slur, but it happens also to be an honorific title.
Did I not say I have been busy? Yes, I was busy. “Busy doing what?” you say. Busy crawling about the city, my ears stinking of cheese, willing into existence my world-historical conception.
I have written it all in my book. What you fail to grasp, but what you will grasp, and what I am helping you to grasp, on behalf of the President, is the nature of truth, of reality, of reality in and of itself, unmolested by the media.
An alternative reality is required, a reality of forever intoxicating heights.
I came upon him in the night. I was terrified at this apparition—a twenty-eight foot President who had been dead a century when I was born.