for show and tell
Just cold keys pressed
I saw Gattaca again. I feel akin. Here I am. I am Vincent.
I am the one who is petending. I am not Vincent. I am
Jerome. I am Vincent pretending to be Jerome. I hide so
well. And make moronic acceptions like Amanda. Which still
isn't even the truth. Bastard.
I take it to extreme lengths like Jerome and Vincent. I
include everything so that it seems real. It must. You
can't lie without support, whether the support is false or
not. I make the support, just like they do. Jerome
supplies Vincent with the skin, blood, urine, and hair
samples, and assorted others. I am the supplier of that
such, those samples in the form of a materialistic lie. I
am not me. I am someone else. Someone much better. I am
not Vincent, the 99% probability of heart problems man
with no future. I am Jerome, the perfect man and 100%
healthy. I am Jerome, who received the silver, and wished
I don't want to die, of course. But the idea of his
thinking is similar. Why settle for anything less when
you're made for better? And seeing as I'm not as I wish,
like Vincent, I change, to become Jerome.
And here I am now.
Hello. My name is Marcshannon Brogan.
Hello. My name is Peter Jahrling.
Hello. My name is Jeremy Shea.
Hello. My name is Seth Revert.
Hello. My name is Nicademus White.
And assorted others...