from the dawn of civilization, arguments arose between individuals and groups of people. people essentially contentious, with brief moments of agreement. in the golden age of Greece, polemicist, and sophists practiced honing their skills of arguing pointlessly to their amusement. they professed no allegiance to a greater underlying truth, to hinder their flexibly weilded logic. those days of carefree bickering were replaced with more rigorous demands, as arguments were now required to conform to an established philosophy (for those who chose to be mind-fuckers) and the code of law (for those who wanted to be lawyers and statsmen) . a dark time followed, where much that could be said in denial was pronounced as illegitimate or erroneous or batshit. fortunately modern history proved that with all the kings horses and all the kings men, we can put philosophy together again.

that's right, we kive in a wonderfully ambiguous time, where what is right is maybe right and what is wrong is always wrong.

which is where YOU can step in and make mucho Dinerro!!!!

you see, while there is still work for people who manipilate rational arguments in public, there is MORE money to be found in undermining rationality, established knowledge and conventions. you don't need to be a scientist, or a doctor, you just do your crazy, noisy bit and deny whatever it is that the client is paying you!

so how to get started:

1)practice denying stuff. it's fun an envigorating! try denying earthquakes, try denying traffic jams. its easy to do. JUST SAY 'NUH UHH'!! let's practice: was there a big, disastrous earthquake???

that's right! 'nuh uhh' . see? you fucking did it!!!

2) we have an alternative form of expression for denying things: it didn't OR it Wasn't.

practice denying stuff with the new denial phrase. it's easy, isn't it? don't worry about long form, stick to contractions!!!

3) find a contentious topic, say the question of taxing the rich. think quickly, which side is likely to pay you? Cui Bono? take the time and bring your enthusiasm for getting paid to those that will pay you. sure, they will look down at you from their silken, cushioned seat among the clouds, and they might throw more money at you just so you don't come close enough, or to make sure you wash your hands after going potty, but more is better.

once you made your willingness to support whatever they need you to support, get to work. be noisy and abnoxious, just keep denying stuff. make sure they pay upfront. tangible results of denial are hard to prove.

4) keep a record of all interactions you have with everybody, particularly your newly found employers. years later, you'll be able to turn this incriminating, conspirational or damming correspondence to avoid prosecution. remember:being state's witness is not fun, and future clients will doubt your professional discretion. alternatively, you could get a ghost writer to write a memoir. NDAs may be a problem, but they are not a wall.

5) if faced with a debate , be oreemptive- this does not mean you need to prepare knowledgeable arguments and be able to bring forth obscure detsils. but you should try find out about the guy you will be arguing with. turn things aggressively by attacking their standing, morality, humanity or existence. (i.e: 'i would gladly present a rebuttal, if only the person i am debating with ever existed. ). don't worry if your words have any consequence, or are hurtful. remember that sticks and stones break bones and words may only cause mild damage to the inner ear.

4) for legal purposes, allege things. you can say all kinds of things, and avoid prosecution, if you phrase it as a hypothetical question.

3) if you are found out at fault, criticized or defamed, invoke your right for free speech, religious freedom of freedom of conscience. this little tool turns any one criticizing you as a petty persecutor, or an indignant tyrant. remember, being a professional denier is about the 'suit' you are wearing: a morally superior, upright individual, whovjust wants the truth to come out. no one buys this, but no one expects waiters to advise you of the stock portfolio, yet they need to wear a suit too.

2) biggotry is a must- you must show those who will employ you that you too are morally murky. they might loath the sight of you, you racist scum (or sexist jerk) , but they surecas hell will not want some fuddy duddy liberal. (unless you already have liberal creds, which you hope to monetize on). funny enough, deep down you may find all this bigotry preposterous, but you get paid for the show.

1) do not question the numbering scheme in this article. also, do not question the typos, and any or all other mistakes. come to think of it, consider it a final test. is this article flawed in any way?

The bitter liquid is warm in my hand. My cold, blue eyes are frozen in the distance upon a sign that says, "You can't buy happiness, but you can buy alcohol and that's close enough."

I chuckle as I shoot the liquid to the back of my throat. It burns, but it's a welcomed burn.

"Another, Ms. Williams?"asks the bartender.

"Please, just call me Emily, and make it a double," I say.

He nods, "You got it...Emily."

His warm green eyes and inviting smile give me a sense of ease I haven't felt since I became "Emily Williams".

Ah, Emily Williams. The the day I created that alias, I never imagined it would reach these heights. The name would be plastered on every magazine, billboard, television and any empty space that could be filled for the public to consume.

Emily Williams, model, actress, singer, writer and CEO of a soon to be Fortune 500 company.

She has it all; beauty, money, fame and access to any man she wants at any time. What more could she want? Emily may say nothing, but Ingrid would disagree.

Ingrid Schmidt, the invisible girl. She was plain but sharp. The world wouldn't see her, but she would make them. Her parents abandoned her at an orphanage when she was three years old, and she would be on the streets before she was 16. Ingrid dreamed of having a family, a home and all the things she'd never known. Instead, fame found her, fortune became her, and life would never be the same. Ingrid Schmidt would change her brown locks to blond, her hourglass figure would form and Emily Williams would be born.

Yet, even as Emily, Ingrid would dream of her parents' return, and one day she would get her wish. As Emily Williams spread across the globe, the parents that abandoned her would find her. They'd use Ingrid to feed their addictions, steal from her, and break her heart once again.

Any remnants of Ingrid and the dreams she once possessed would die an agonizing death within Emily, and Emily's focus would not surpass money, fame nor self-preservation. She'd refuse her hand to various men, find a different bed each night and never stay in one place for too long lest her past, thoughts and loneliness caught up to her.

"Here you go, Ms- I mean Emily", says the bartender as he hands me my drink, and a noticeable silver band on his left hand glimmers under the bar light.

"Thank you," I say as I take drink and swirl it in my hand.

"Tell me..." I squint to read his name tag, "Jesse...what would you do with a million dollars right now?"

Jesse looks at me bewildered, as others before him often have.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"I mean, if someone gave you a million dollars right now, what would you do with it?" I say persistently.

Without hesitation Jesse says, "I'd buy a house. My wife is pregnant, and we always dreamed of having a house to start our family. I was hoping I'd have enough saved but the baby came sooner than I thought."

I'd gotten a lot of answers over the years but none as sincere as this one.

"Hm," I say as a I take a sip, "how long have you been married?"

"Five years," he says.

"And what are you having?"

"A girl," he responds as he lights up, "I'm terrified, but I also can't wait. She'll be daddy's little girl."

I clear my throat in a grim attempt to mask my tears.

"Do you guys have a name?" I ask choked up.

"The wife and I can't agree. I wanted to name her Ingrid after my late grandmother, but the wife isn't a fan. Says it sounds too old-timey," he says.

I laugh. I always thought it sounded old-timey too.

"What's so funny?" he asks.

"Nothing,"I say. "nothing at all. That's a beautiful dream."

I pause, "Can I please get the check to close out the tab?"

"Sure." Jesse turns to go but stops, "I'm sorry to ask, you think I can also get an autograph for the wife? She's a huge fan, and actually so am I..." His cheeks turn a rosy hue.

"Absolutely," I say.

His smile stretches ear to ear, like a child left alone in a candy store. To think one signature could make someone so happy.

Jesse returns with a check in a holder.

I take the holder. "Thanks."

I wave a hundred dollars in front of him before I put it inside the holder on my lap and tell him to keep the change.

"Oh wow," he stammers, "thank you. I'll put it towards the house fund,"he jokes.

I keep the holder and pull out a piece of paper from my purse.

"Who am I making this out to?"

He says, "Oh, right, the autograph. Jesse and Laney Hanks please."

I fill out the piece of paper, put it in the holder atop the hundred dollar bill, close it and give it back to Jesse.

"I hope your dreams come true," I say as I down the drink and begin to leave.

I leave Jesse giddy with joy, but before I can step foot outside the bar he stops me from behind. I turn around to see that all the color has drained from his face and the piece of paper is in his hand.

"Ms-Emily, this is a check. A check for a million dollars, you must have made a mistake. I can't take this."

He tries to hand it back to me with trembling hands. I tighten his grip around the check and push his hands back.

"Yes, you can and you will. It's for you and your family. You deserve to have a house you can make a home in for your daughter."

His mouth is agape, his green eyes wide and moistened by tears. He can't seem to find the words to speak until he simply says with a quavering voice, "Thank you, Emily."

"Please...call me Ingrid," I say as I walk away.

You know what I'm realizing? None of us were happy. Not ever, not once. We were all miserable, all the time, from the very beginning.

We reminisce on the old days because we weren't as miserable, nobody but a few of us had experienced immediate friends or family death before. We could still lie to ourselves and say that our drinking was normal, our drug use was normal, and our lifestyle was normal.

We could still say fuck it, I'll take care of that tomorrow. We still had a lot left to experience and do in life, and we didn't think it was going to suck just yet.

But happy? No, the emptiness in each of our eyes glinted like a reverse hallmark card. We all saw it in each other, and knew. I think that's what kept us together as long as it has, did, and will. I think that's what society fails to grasp about anyone that isn't them or doesn't fit into the narrative required of us to line up and dress right dress to.

Sometimes one person's normal is the opposite, and we are those opposites. The ones that have to stay quiet or lie when someone asks us if we're okay, or how we met someone, or what makes us friends. We know, but we never talk about it because the stigma of silence spreads beyond the public spaces and into the closed doors where we would drown our sorrows until we could let a mismanaged sliver of the shit that was burning us alive out of our souls.

We reminisce on the old days, because we had people to reminisce with.

Including ourselves.

The emptiness that bonded us together has managed to kill nearly every single person in a 6 block radius, has managed to put us into shitty relationships with shitty people consistently, has thrown us into association with the most slippery of shit bags that exist who we thought were our friends until we needed them most and found ourselves abandoned.

Then we would always come back to each other, and then one day we couldn't.

Must be nice bonding over anything that isn't the only thing that you can think about because everyday it fucking eats you alive.

You want to tell somebody so bad, but you've experienced so much negative feed back when you do or have.. that all you have is that shitty yet fucking beautiful glint of damage, hopelessness, and the fractured emptiness in eyes that in a few short years will close forever... If you're lucky.

If you're like me, you look around and suffocate in front of a room in your apartment, a hometown street, a local bar, or bodega full of ghosts. The emptiness consumes you, and you destroy yourself some more but now? Now you're all alone.

I miss you guys. SM - SE - KE - MM - MS - D - and the one who got away.

Love.

A defining moment

or is it

alchemy's reaction?

For some actions

are the evidence.

For others feelings

are trusted.

Love

grows cold

when neglected.

Deeds better left undone

come to life,

when the heart is pained.

Love

does not define you,

it is the acceptance of

and the ability to

in all its forms

that tells of your

love.

every blood seeping day is a wirlwind of the same ongoing events week after week. I guess you could say the die down from tragic demise and reluctant theatricals has made everything in the aftermath like cricket at the end of an alley.

Could you tell?

alarm after alarm after alarm, reliving the same day like im on happy death day. Seeing the same people, retriving same activies day in and day out. But a smile is whiped on my face. Walking around with a pound of conserved misery and staggering concepts seeping out at every creak to the seal. But remains a smile thoughout day in and out.

But can you tell?

Can you tell is the same smile that had smiled through countless events churning reality in which had been shape shifting from terror to terror. the warping of emotions from utter hatred to mushy counterfitted feelings, back to regret and grief; then every feeling placed into a wash and randomzied like drawing popsicle sticks in kindergrden.

how can you tell?

Every tourmenting occurance is just a repeat on a past event, every mind ingulfing episode in which my head is tormented by the words around me scrapted into hateful idioms. How can one see that on ones face, who would want to?

but can you ever tell?

"He's literally not even that cute." April rolled her eyes. I scoffed. She obviously has horrible taste in men if she doesn't find this boy cute.

"Yes, he is! I mean, he's literally the perfect guy. I can't even find the words to describe him." I sipped my coffee and lovingly stared at him.

"Well, if he's so cute, go talk to him."

"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" I accidentally shouted. Everyone in the shop turned their heads and stared. Including him. I had never seen him before but as soon as I did, I decided I was destined to be his one and only. His bride, his lover, the mother of his children. Is that creepy? I don't care if it is, it's the truth. If I only I could talk to him.

"Babe, just go up to him. Say hi, introduce yourself. Flirt a little!"

"I'm not you. You're a model, I'm a turtle."

"You're not a turtle. Go or I'm bringing him over here."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would." I hesitated. What if he rejected me? Then I'd have to walk back to our table in absolute embarrassment. Plus, he was on his computer. I didn't want to disturb him.

"Fine. You suck." I finally agreed. I guess I only live once, and this boy, he was my soulmate. We were meant to be. I got out of my chair and started to his table.

"Hi!" He looked up at me, his icy blue eyes piercing my soul.

"Hi? Do I know you?" His voice was deep, making me swoon. Just another perfect thing about him.

"Not yet. I'm Amaya. I saw you from across the room and honestly I couldn't take my eyes off you." What was I saying? Was I flirting? I was unfamiliar with this side of me. How was I doing this?

"Well, I must say, you are pretty good-looking yourself. I'm Chris, take a seat!" He smiled. His teeth were perfect. I swear this man was straight out of a movie, how in the world was he so perfect? And Chris, such a basic but sensual name. Maybe that's just me, but I think Chris is a pretty hot name.

"It's nice to meet you! I've never seen you around, are you new to town?" I asked. I was never very good at small talk.

"Yeah, I moved around a year ago, but I haven't really been in town too much. How long hav-

"CHRIS?! YOU LYING SON OF A BITCH! HOW THE HELL IS THIS?!" A woman stomped over to our table from the cash register. Chris's eyes widened.

"Melissa, it isn't what it looks like. I promi-

"YOU SACK OF SHIT! YOU'RE CHEATING ON ME AGAIN?! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU! THAT'S IT, WE'RE DONE! I WANT MY CAT BACK!" The girl ran out of the coffee shop, Chris following yelling,

"Melissa, baby, come back!" I sat in shock, until I heard April laughing so hard, I thought she might fall over. She came over with our coffees in her hand.

"Come on, I wanna see how this turns out! They couldn't have gone far!" April and I darted out of the shop to see this mess of a relationship. I guess that boy was too good to be true.

The sun's glint was flowing between my blinds, filling my room like an indoor swimming pool. My room has slowly been corrupted by layers of papers on my desk, cut out shrivels and papers laying off the edge soon to fall. That's what happens when a person like me has an idea at midnight making a deranged sleep mess I will certainly not be remembering doing. The alarm I had set on my phone forced me to fully power my mind to wake up even though I didn't want to. A sudden glow had arose from the once bright as fuc* but not this bright had originally shown. Dust from god knows what starts to blur around the light beams hitting certain objects or structures in my room. I then see a woman arise from the spot that I thought was vacant aside to me, thank god it isn't anymore, her face is so perfect. The jawline was razor sharp, she had these heart shaped lips with the sheer tint that makes anyone's eyes drift away into them. Her collar bones were nearly hard to miss, being they are broad. Her short brown hair fluttered around her face, so I never fully can tell her exact description. But one main pointal feature I could pin onto her was her eyes. Her eyes were this dark but not pitch dark brown eyes, and they had this glow. I had never seen anything like it, after looking for a bit I started to gaze out into her eyes, I felt at peace. That was something I realized in the moment I hadn't felt in ages. Something about this woman seems too perfect. I feel at home, like this would be a scene with butterflies floating in and out of the window with birds chirping and some random chimes someone left outside and forgot it annoys half the neighborhood. I tried not to fall for her touch but it was so blatantly repulsive that I hadn't felt in years, I was drawn to her. I couldn't even see her full face and I was drawn to her. Who is she?

What was it about this woman that drew me from a single glance after waking up? The first person I see in the morning never gets a gloating look of admiration, they would probably get some sas and a layer of cuz words as I foret how to walk or something stupid. A layer of memories I can't put into an image or phrase recollected into my head, it felt like I had known her for a lot longer than 2 minutes. But how could I have known someone this close to see them the way I do. She has an oversized band T shirt, but It felt like I had seen her on multiple occasions. Will I see her again? I hope I do.