 The words would go here. If he really thought you had something to say. The words would be stolen and placed here as part of a greater consirarcy, one to turn all that ails the human race into fodder for a single soul to comedically vomit into artwork as if mocking another single soul, subliminally. The who's who in this great and spastic drama of the absurd is not really of his concern. It's not of anyone's concern. He's not you, after all. Nor as he ever been, naturally. The picture was perfect. It didn't lack for words but the ones who put words on things are the ones who have final say over what things get words. They aren't necessarily the only ones with words, with voices that say words, but their percieved mastery over language trumps the eye of the artist who can say more in the abstract than a million of them could muster as they, collectively, assembled the longest novel ever written. He wasn't one of the ones who made that decision, though. You're wrong about that. But the novel will be written. The design left a lot to be desired. He tried to explain "desire," abstractly, if it were a word we'd all just heard for the first time. We scoffed at that and it was sing-song scoff; he thought we were scoffing at the design. We would have sneered at it if our faces worked correctly. I couldn't remember the last time my face worked correctly. Maybe I'd never shown emotion in earnest, properly emoted. He would've liked the way your face contorted because it contorted in a perfect lie. It slyly said the design was perfect, all the while a bile worked its way down your throat. And you wouldn't break until you got the chance to vomit the vile in privacy. You'd tell him, without words, how you liked the way it tasted coming out. The peruser is you. It wasn't typical they would ask someone like you to do a thing like that but with the growing science of market research more akin to religion now than merely something to laugh at for creatives, the peruser is you. It had been decided in a violent pinch, an almost shouting voice. When the order was barked I became blanker than I'd ever been before and felt truly confident I could master the lie. When presented with this new, blank canvas, we locked eyes. And you saw it in me. You nodded when you saw it in me and walked away. The results were preverted. Not that they were preverted, as in you soiled them purposely in an attempt to fix humanity. No, rather your honesty finally shone through. It was something of a miracle, or at least it seemed like one to me, and my jaw dropped or I dropped my jaw thinking that that was what my jaw was meant to do as this act of betrayal was worthy of nothing less. Either way, my canvas was ruined and I could sense his smile despite his absence, which was great. It was the truest thing yet and they hooped and hollered something fierce over the results. The profits rolled in. They rolled in as if literally on wheels, as if they were vehicles and each unit on the plus side was a fatal crash. They continued to come and he was seemingly nowhere when he was in fact in his private bathroom, hands glued to a plunger, on his knees, working that stick against an invisible shit. You told me that the shit wasn't really there; it was just that all the water was brown. I asked how you knew this and you literally didn't hear me. You might have wanted to hear me but you had transitioned into a different type of person and it wasn't your fault. I forgive you, too. The silence came and went. The silence came and went until it mostly stayed. When it started to mostly stay, it eventually just became silent all the time. The first thing we did not stop talking about was why we had gotten so loud to begin with. He stayed in the bathroom and we heard the water swashing about for a long time. It was the last sound we heard. When it was finally all quiet, I started to draw a picture. You burst out and, with the rubber of the plunger, scrawled the word "NO" on my picture. I didn't even know what I was attempting to draw, what I wanted to draw. I looked at you and frowned. You were frowning as well. After a spell, you followed the word "NO" with the word "PLEASE." The words were written in shit. 
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