The Truthers
went about the day
exposing themselves.
Sincering, one of the
revelers would soon
say to a masked person
he believed to be his best
friend Albert. Albert had
unwaveringly maintained
that he knew his
friend inside and
out, when in reality,
there was that
massive threadbare
canvas woven arduously
with science and non-
fiction and values that
hovered over the
entire party that
night which, after
a few strained
years appeared
as if on the
verge of
disintigration.
Beneath it were
the innumerable
whispered secrets
that zipped electrically
through the room,
blown hot into every
other ear at the
masquerade, as if
such delicate intimacies
were vaporous proof
that each blower of
gossip could map
the very soul of each
blowee, and thoroughly.
After the lights went
unexpectedly dark
and the horrendous
tragedy ensued,
each stranger
that remained,
each individual that
had survived the
momentously surreal
ordeal, believed that
the event had
brought them all
even closer together,
had made them kindred,
built a community.
And no mere lack of
transparency would
ever take that
away from them.
