the stillborn nature of facts
is that they have no natural life,
just the virtuality of context.
a still-point of reference
in the hot hands of humans as a viewpoint,
which is caught up in the simulation of meaning.
fact is certainly an accomplice
to the torture of human perspectives,
while living in the secret life of a backstory.
haunting the inquisitives with inferring reflectives.
presented with the sudden acne of inadvertent questions.
providing almost a bad high-school-photo of unrelentings.
living the dehumanization into a prop-world,
puppets of the brain-game,
retentive minds’ version of gold coins
made wildly available for a thinker’s tinkering.
raised as intentional flags for opinion’s fury
yet just odes of the moment to be cognizes.
imagine the crustiness of a bare fact,
with the boldface intrusion of meaning
as a form of self-defense.
humans’ usage, in their justification,
as truly distant from oneness,
is lined up by way of a fact-feast
as a condition of living.
it’s a way of being postured into relatedness
since true connectedness is a rarity.
human passion is a medium
to get beyond fact in its rutted-ness
but fact, as it stands, lives in integrative denial.
fact into the hibernation of an inferred treatment,
subsists on, with no more labor needed,
once humans move onto a less cerebral existence
as fact either becomes a falsehood
or ventures into time-frame-irrelevance
or in general, becomes artifact-assigned
or lip service defusing with its vocal impact
and fact then has a fallback shelf-life
eventually into oblivion . . .
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