The big bluff. The plague of the soul. Empty small talk that neither party have any interest in but have somehow fallen under the impression that the other one is. Forced laughter that makes your cheeks hurt from the weight of holding up the corners of your mouth. Misinterpretations of expectations and obligations. Mock niceties and plasticated enthusiasm. It’s all a sham. Fraudulent personalities thrust into your radius without warning, capable of single handedly extinguishing every spark of glowing light radiating from the spirit candles as they flicker and dance at your beautiful perfect core.
NB. Cheese is an addiction and diets make you cross.
It is my opinion that as a group of equally loathed things, (and of course I am referring to society’s synthetic tendencies and not to the expertly crafted creamy confectionary) they need a name, a collective, a reference point, a magic word that we could all shout out as tho under attack from a group of hungry ether dogs growling and salivating at the ankles of the soul. After consulting the literary oracle of the world wide web – ‘thesaurus.com/browse/fake’, I have found something suitable. Ready? Fictitious. Used correctly I believe, ‘fictitious’ refers more to fiction than artificiality, however if you pronounce it as it looks, it has quite a nice ring to it, and almost sounds like an accompaniment to a spell, in which case when I shout it out I can also wave my hands around thus drawing attention and increasing my prospects of diffusing the awful situation that will inevitably have arisen accompanying any or all of the aforementioned.
“FIC-TIT-IOUS!” And the beast was done.
“Hello. I’m the one who’s going to disappoint your expectations. Who are you? Nice of you to meet me. Did you?”
I inwardly preach this distaste for false niceties and forced small talk, tho I as much as anyone have been culprit of unnaturally raised vocal octaves, a hearty laugh more suited to the nether regions of my anatomy, of nodding enthusiastically in agreement when in fact I have no idea what’s going on. I bare my teeth and try to tilt the corners of my mouth so that it may pass as a smile and conceal my distaste, my lack of tolerance, my general irritation with the inconvenience that seems to be invading my circumference, so that I may appear what? A better person? Or a fictional character?
A figment of my interpretation of the collective imagination. Nice of me to meet you.
Seek refuge under the blanket fort fashioned from the patchwork quilts of nonsense.