Upcycled, mixed media artwork by Keely Jane
We are the people in power.
We are the people, that is, with the watts.
It is therefore with a faint glow of lumens that we must inform you that you, in fact, are not real.
Are you shocked?
You, thing: you are an unregulated polymer, an oversized home appliance, a hair dryer plucked from a Selectric typewriter, yet somehow surviving outside the box.
You knew you had to be natural. Was this, your Salton hottray of your three-hole-punch construct, just some made-up Hollywood movie magic? Makeup? A trick? Be real.
You are a plagiarism expressed by the previous owners, absorbing their principles (but, can plastic fully absorb?) and mass reproducing other elasticized non-persons of interest.
Before we let you know just what it is we're going to do with you, we want to state our principles clearly (in Lucite), in the element such principles exist today (and will for eons to come). These very principles are housed on a flash drive/mimeograph machine/fax/Telex hybrid, cleverly disguised as an everyday household object (yeah-everyone has one of those—thanks to us!!!) and buried in a cookie tin/Studebaker hybrid several leagues under a landfill/sewing machine.
We rate the so-called reality of a so-called human on the following four (4) bedrock bases:
Is that your face?
Are you really from here?
Did you add a zero at the end of your age range?
Did you steal your treated-fabric living room set from people in distant lands whom you consider lesser beings than yourself?
And get this...
We found the following in your lab notes/Samsonite suitcase trio/Filofax:
Fabricated family of origin
These lack honesty, authenticity, accuracy, 100% natural fabrics, the required (don't tell) test on animal eyes.
You, then, are one of the most famous scientific frauds-of-the-month. May your plaque be laminate. May your iced tea be a flavor. May unclassifiable blue crystals dissolve the ice on your front walk.
You thought you were going to get away with it, didn't you? Rules are made to be broken? You thought we, us and the whole Xerox world, we were all giving you a pass. You thought, I'm getting away with this, "this" referring to whatever travesty you, you HO gauge box car, have visited upon the whole Vistadome bathyverse (and we will find out what that travesty is). For brief moments, you felt all warm inside, all waterproof mascara. But there's no "warm waterproof" when you're plastic.
Therefore, you downcycled ex-cog, you are polyester, with your rubber teeth and your Scotch tape fingernails, and your Teflon health plan. You are a robot Walkman. You thought you had it made, but it made you, and now, you can bet your thumb drive, your code is written in margarine, and you will be melted down.