Super Fake Love Song

I had a thing I called the Post-Encounter Energy Scan (PEES). After hanging out with someone, you took a moment to gauge how your body felt. If you felt tired and depleted by the encounter, you should probably not expose yourself to that person again. If you felt energized, you should increase your exposure to that person.

People, I realized, rooted for teams not necessarily because one was somehow fundamentally better than the other. They did it mostly just to belong. Because it was nice to belong to something, or someone.

It killed me that people had to cancel their dreams for endless toil, unless of course we somehow managed to pull ourselves out of these late-stage capitalist dark ages and into a Star Trek (TNG) future blessed with a universal basic income and sweet jumpsuits.

Sometimes I feel like I’m just appearing in the same place. Again and again. Just alternate realities in an infinite multiverse.” Up until this point in my young life I had never heard anything more romantic.

My cynicism, I realized, was my way of removing myself from the equation so that I could not get hurt.

Everyone's a pathetic soul. But when you put yourself out there, and the audience responds, we're no longer pathetic.

The only way to learn who you are is by copying someone else first.

What person isn't just a made-up thing in the first place? Is it the fakery that makes us real? Is anything real?

If there were no shame, would we be freer? Or just descend into chaos?

My god, Los Angeles was an ugly city. But my god, Los Angeles was still cool as hell.

Pop is not music. Pop is celebrity. Fabricated personas that are all style, no substance. Pop is a celebration of fakeness. Artifice is the only cultural currency left, now that the internet has erased all contextual borders.

Email was the awkward transitional technology between snail mail

the scent of fresh-cut grass, which was actually a distress chemical released by the mutilated blades in an anguished effort to repair themselves.

Being a minority in a crowd of majority meant having to prove yourself worthy, over and over, for you were only as credible as your latest divine miracle.

Lady Lashblade (best friends with Lady Steelsash (producer of What Kingdoms May Rise (starring actor Stephan Deming (husband of Elise Patel (head organizer for Fantastic Faire (the largest medieval and Renaissance-themed outdoor festival in the country))))))

Track was what mouth-breathing football cheerleaders did to ensure they remained visible to donkey-brained football players for every possible minute of every day.

Miles, you sure you don’t want to run tight end for the football team? Quick, strong guy like you?” “It’s Milo,” said Milo.

But Coach Oldtimer did not go away. Coach, an older white man with the face of an enchanted tree scarred by the emerald fires of war, drew near. He’d been with the school since its founding six thousand years ago.

Might as well try," said Dad to Gray. "Do or at least try, there is no do not," croaked Gray. "Never attempt to quote Star Wars again," I said.

American progress went one way only toward just the one eternal goal, which was always more.

I, too, had many boxes in my room that I didn't' want Cirrus to see. Only my boxes were the permanent kind.

What's wrong?" said Milo. This was bad. When Milo asked what's wrong, he did not let go until the question was fully answered. He was like a bulldog. A big, gentle bulldog that clamped down on unexpressed emotions and shook with rabid fury until they'd been ripped free and were dripping wet in his powerful jaws of compassion. "It's nothing," I said, and winced at my error. It's nothing was bloodscent for Milo. Milo's emotional jaws squeezed harder. "Tell us what it is, Sunny Dae." I wrapped my arms around my ears. "Sorry, you guys are breaking up on me." "Not if we're texting," said Milo. Checkmate. I felt Milo's teeth pierce my psychic skin. I sagged limp like fresh kill. I gave in.