As promised in my last post I would turn my artistic attentions to felines.


The normal, light, lush orange hair, tainted with thin, dark, black streaks that pepper its otherwise spotless fur coat. You look down at it thinking, "This is a pretty cute cat," but can't help but wonder how much nicer it would be with lighter, cleaner fur. You fight back the thought, knowing it's probably racist or some shit like that, but the more you push it away, the more you feel like you're lying to yourself. You realize your entire life has just been spent falsifying your identity and wearing masks to hide all those insidious negative thoughts that violate your spotless mind, like the streaks to its fur. You wonder what's the real you: the one you make, or the one you are. You're no longer sure.

The cat is looking up at you expectantly. You don't think it knows what's going on? It wakes up everyday with its face in its own fur; its first moment of consciousness spent just looking at itself, judging itself. It's not stupid; it's scared. Did you even notice that I've been constantly calling this cat "it" and not "he" or "she"?


Of course not.

Suddenly, you realize you have no respect for this cat. You want to say something nice, to make it happy, but you can't. You're suddenly reminded of your grade two teacher telling the class that honesty, above all else, is important. You fucking hate this cat, but what kind of person would say that to its face? Maybe everything you learned about respect, honesty, right, and wrong was a lie. Maybe everything's a lie.



Maybe that fucking picture is a lie.  That's right, I didn't draw that. I just took it off the internet and applied a couple filters in Photoshop. Now it's a cute real cat. Are you happy?

Of course not.

How can you be? You don't even remember what happy means anymore.

You've barely got anything tangible left to hold onto in the world. Nothing makes sense anymore. You're lost, torn, confused, surprised, and trapped in awe.



What's this?

You know what it is.

That's your face.

That's right. That's your face, utterly baffled by the situation.

Don't believe me? Why not look in the mirror.



You don't even have to look in the fucking mirror because I drew it. That there is a drawing of you looking at yourself in the mirror, completely baffled by the situation.

How did I do this? How did I draw your face days before you even had it? Am I a magician? A psychic? A seer? A god?


I'm an artist.

Next week I'll be drawing fruit.

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