Postmodern prophets preaching self help - selling narcissism on new street corners  the narcotic of choice - the voice of reason is unreasonably sure of itself - the cure for itself is awareness of the ultimate overwhelming oneness of all things - the smallness of the self and all its wants and worries - hurrying ever to the next big thing - to sex and things that sparkle and remarkable possessions - lessons don’t come easy breezy - beauty is not airbrushed hair brushed crushed by convention - the retention of these lies inside our eyes and burned onto our corneas - horny as teenagers - raging lust for strangers on pedestals - pedestrian loves are hush hush on the downlow - you know you deserve more drama and devotion - emotion is another set of clothes we wear - a brand we brandish for onlookers - hookers all for eyes and ears of prying peers – a modern cabinet of curiosities – monstrosities condensed into manicured mazes of myth and personal propaganda – face painted untainted tailored tragedies unfolding holding nothing but the bland inertia of a staged story - static in its saccharine sincerity, perfected for posterity – the black comedy of being and seeing nothing but a photograph that we believe to be a mirror. Oh, the horror!