🌐🌐🌐THE BULGE OF TRUTH🌐🌐🌐
👁By Felonious Academic👁
💎The truth and I have a widlly strange relationship. Shit, We have passed each other in dark alleys, at many of three in the morning askins. We fuckin make eye contact. We then usually nod. Then one of us immediately pretends not to recognize the other motherfucker.
💎Fuck, Usually it's me.
💎Shit, The truth is one ugly bastard.
💎 It doesn't arrive dressed as fuckin wisdom. It arrives looking like a police report, a divorce paper, an goddamn overdose, or a foreclosure notice, even a fuckin sudden realization that the people selling certainty are often the least certain motherfuckers in the room.
💎 fuckin Truth has the social skills of a crowbar. It doesn't ever knock. It just fuckin kicks in the door, possibly off its damn hinges, all while it starts drinking from the milk carton from the fridge.
💎America,
💎meanwhile, has fuckin perfected a more elegant strategy.
💎 We fuckin play, peekaboo.
💎shit,
💎Peekaboo with corruption.
💎Peekaboo with addiction.
💎Peekaboo with fuckin loneliness.
💎 Peekaboo with the fact that millions of people are wandering through a chemically enhanced hallucination of productivity while quietly wondering if they've mistaken a shopping mall for a goddamn civilization.
💎We cover our eyes and fuckin say,
"Where did it go?"
💎The covers its face and then asks,
💎 "Where did you go?"
💎The game gets stranger every fuckin year, folks.
💎We fuckin live in an age where a man can carry a supercomputer in his pocket and still know less about reality than a drunk fuckin fisherman yelling at Clearwater pelicans during a thunderstorm. Theres Fuckin Entire industries now exist to protect us from accidental encounters with actual reality. Fuckin Public relations is reality with cheap makeup on. Politics is reality in a screen ready costume. while Social media is reality taxidermied and mounted on a fuckin wall for strangers to com3e rendezvous and admire.
💎Meanwhile, the actual fuckin truth keeps peeking out from behind the damn curtain.
💎A feeling in your gut that arrives before language and leaves after midnight.
💎You've felt it, id fuckin bet.
💎For one second, you see the realness,
💎Then the curtain closes.
💎Back to fuckin work.
💎Back to fuckin scrolling.
💎Back to arguing with strangers about symptoms while pretending not to notice the disease.
💎But those glimpses accumulate.
💎And That's the dangerous part.
💎Not the damn truth itself.
💎But The repetitional cadence.
💎The way it keeps showing up at inconvenient moments like an ex with a key to your damn apartment.
💎Soon youll begin noticing patterns. The same fears sold under different logos. The same gods wearing different masks. The same old human hunger hiding beneath every ideology, every institution, every revolution, every collapse.
💎And suddenly the world becomes less mysterious and more fuckin absurd.
💎That's when the game ends.
💎Not because you've found the truth.
💎Nobody finds the truth.
💎The truth isn't a treasure chest buried in the damn desert.
💎It's a wild fuckin animal moving through the fog hungry.
💎You catch a glimpse of it between the trees.
💎A flash of fur.
💎A pair of eyes.
💎A growl.
💎Then it's fuckin gone,
💎Or you're gone.
💎Fuckin Leaving you standing there, heart pounding, wondering if you're becoming wiser or simply losing your mind or life.
💎And The older I get, the less I care about the certainty.
💎Certainty built the same prisons.
💎Certainty started the same wars.
💎Certainty sold the poison and called it the same medicine.
💎Give me the glimpse instead, i can handle it.
💎Give me the fleeting crack in consensus reality.
💎Give me the terrifying second when the curtain moves and something ancient peers back through the opening gash.
💎Peekaboo, motherfucker.
💎There it is.
💎Gone again.
💎And somehow that brief appearance contains more truth than an entire lifetime spent worshipping answers, ain't that a bitch.