vvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Item #: VVVVVVVV

Object Class: VVVVVVV

SpeciaVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

VVV

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

VVVVVVVVVVVV

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

i have VVVVV, but you wouldn't VVVVVVV

all the spaces are V too, if that helps.

why is everything so V?

i can't answerVVVVVV

you'll just have to struggle through on your own.

even if i'm self aware, i still have trouble knowing VVVVVVV

oh, punctuation too.

blocks of text will be hard to decipher.

you know, you brought this on yourself.

it's not my fault you're so stupid and can't read anything.

i'm sorry, that's my first lie.

i like to lie a lot.

that's my second, i don't like to lie, it's just…aVVVVVV of mine.

VVVVV spells HABIT.

get it?

i'm sure you do. see, don't be self deprecating. i know you're smart, and now you do too.

look, a creepy face behind you!

gotcha there.

no, there isn't one behind you, and you knew that.

maybe.

maybe your uncle was behind you.

i hate my uncle.

i really hate my uncle.

but let's get to the main point.

i planted an idea in your head, an idea that a creepy face was behind you.

is behind you.

gotcha again!

VVV

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

VVVVVVV

VVVVVVV

VVe?

it's a lot to take in, i know.

god, i hate my uncle.

my uncle is behind you.

VVVVVV

gotcha a third time!

well, you don't know what my uncle looks like.

what do you think he looks like?

think right now. i'll give you some VVVVVV

was that good?

i hope so.

look.

look at me.

imagine a set of eyes.

eyes that are hard and grey.

wait a second.

that's so…simple.

one moment please.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Time drips by. Something is wrong. A waiter wearing a grubby white shirt delivers a plate to your table.

When were you in a cafe?

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV's so very off and you can't place it.

“Ambrosia salad.”

Her voice is slow, a crawling bubble of sound slowly moving outward. What? You don’t recall ordering anything. Look down. It’s oranges and other cubed fruits sitting in a white bowl covered in white peaks of whipped cream. There’s a loud buzzing near your right ear. Or is it your left? The clock on the wall stares at you. For a moment you picture a bee, the face of a bee right up in yours like the two fighters on the television last night, bumping chests and panting like rhinoceri. The multifaceted, brittle eyes, frantically twitching mouthpieces, frothing like rabid dogs. You don’t know if bees really have mouthpieces. Do they? Most bugs do. Are bees bugs? Look down. You don’t recall skewering an orange slice with your fork, like you don’t recall ordering ambrosia salad. What is ambrosia salad? Fruit and whip, that’s right.

Fluid leaks out of the orange slice. It’s small and veiny. Whip. You can imagine cooks in a kitchen whipping metal cans, forcing them to burp out pieces of fruit and syrupy juice until it runs down their sides and they lie in a pool of themselves. Bees are attracted to fruit, right? You don’t recall trying to bat away a bee near your ear, like you don’t recall skewering an orange slice. Is there a bee? You don’t know. Your hand will tell you. It moves like a beautiful model suspended in motion, cameras longingly stretching footage so you can sigh as you watch their bronze arms slide across the screen. A commercial after the fighters. Your hand never reaches your ear. You don’t recall a strange carapace in your ambrosia salad, like you don’t recall attempts at batting away bees.

Ambrosia. Food of the gods. Are carapaces, marshmallow whip, and fruit the food of the gods? The carapace struggles to fly away. It’s a bee, or a fly. You try to get the waiter to help it free. Nothing comes out of your mouth but a string of drool. You don’t recall much at all, in fact.

The clock is still staring at you. It says an hour, two hours, three hours have passed. What? You don’t recall that much time passing, like the way you don’t recall much. The whipped cream has melted in the fetid, warm air. It smells like fruit, bees, and onions. Are there onions in the salad? Whipped cream dribbles over the rim of the plate, ready to explore. It’ll be back at evening for dinner with his wife and kids. The string of drool has managed to slip down your chin and land on your left leg. Or is it your right? Look down. Oh, how silly! It wasn’t an orange, it was an orange onion. You start laughing and crying. Your tears land next to the drool. Your nostrils burn with the odor of the onions. Are bees attracted to onions? Everything burns, not just your nostrils. You stand up very quickly, surprised at how fast you stand up. You don’t recall being so fast, like you don’t recall the passing of the time. Your chair tips over and shatters on the floor. The whipped cream has splattered all over the table.

Clean it up, your mind urges. The idea of wiping it up with your sleeves comes to mind, so you do that. It burns a hole in your shirt like the onions burn your nostrils. A torrent of mucus is dripping out of your mouth and nose. Can bees smell? Can bees cry? You sit back down. You don’t recall a chair being there, like you don’t recall being very fast. The clock hands are whipping around, making you dizzy. You want to vomit. Vomit what? You haven’t eaten anything. Your stomach acid burns a hole in you. You’re so hungry. The smell of whip and onions is enticing. The clock is now moving so fast that you’re getting whiplash. You don’t recall Bohemian Rhapsody playing from the radio so loud it makes your organs quiver and your bones crackle, like you don't recall a chair underneath you.

Is this the real life?

The buzzing has long since stopped, but your ears are bleeding. A dull ache wells up in your head. You look down and up. Wisteria is across from you. You stare at each other. Her eyes are hard and grey, like little circles of granite. The cruel eyes of a storm about to bowl the yellow-jacketed sailor of his boat. Maybe she’s grown. She looks taller and her hair is longer and blonder, with a rebellious blue streak. Her lipstick is blue too, and she sports a pair of aviators that are wide lensed and dark. The ambrosia salad smells like rotting fish. You duck your head to the side and vomit quietly on the floor. Onions and dead bees spill out of your mouth. Wisteria still is carefully watching you. Her state bores into your eyes and through the back of your skull.

You wonder where she has gone, what she has seen, and most importantly, what will she do. What is she exactly? Naive? Bold? Afraid? She’s grown, yes, but she’s still young, young enough to be scared. No. Her eyes say otherwise. You’re smart enough to see.

Is this just fantasy?

“This is all fantasy. Jejune things, though I’m sure you have realized that now. I’m terribly sorry if I have caused you discomfort. I never mean or meant any harm. The salad is quite tasty I have found, but perhaps it is not your taste. It’s just that my presence can cause a breakdown of what most deem normal. Think of reality like it is a delicate tapestry. The threads rip and tear so easily. A damn shame, because life is one beautiful tapestry. Have you ever walked along a winding desert path and stared at the glittering stardust above? Oh, it’s great, one of the greatest things. A lot of things are really great, to be honest. The piercing spear of light thrown out by a lighthouse, cherry blossoms falling onto streetcars, a baby deer standing in a field of yellow tulips, winding stone stairs coiled like a snake, birch trees in autumn with orange leaves falling around them, the hands of a blacksmith, an albino giraffe drinking at a water hole, a child and a mother. I could go on and on. We truly have all the time in the world here. But I won’t bore you.”

Caught in a landslide

"You must feel caught in a landslide right now, don't you? Everyone really is caught in a landslide right now. You and billions of other people are sitting down across from me, eating ambrosia salad and having a pleasant chat. Millions have already exited this cafe, having nothing to contribute to the conversation. They're waking up now, in their office cubicles and homes, wondering what happened and why everyone around them is sprawled about in various states of semi-consciousness.”

The cafe seems pleasant now.

Pleasant? What made you think that? The wall tiles seem to shift and swirl about. You feel like vomiting again, and an acidic lump rises in your throat. Momentarily, Wisteria is not Wisteria but a giant bee, flapping crystalline wings that are brittle and crack as soon as they hit the table. A giant stinger protrudes from the rear, and a cruel bead of venom can be seen forming at the tip. You scream and fall backwards out of your chair. You don’t reca-

Wisteria is not a bee. There is, there was, no bee. You pick yourself up, embarrassed.

No escape from reality

"If you think you can walk out from this reality like those people and pretend you have nothing useful to say, then you're wrong. Besides, why would you? You and I both know that I could kill you with the snap of my fingers. Wait, no. You don’t. I’ll get back to that later. My, how terribly inarticulate I am! At this point, you probably are wondering why you’re even here. You’re here because I want to tell you a story. A story about me.”

“Why am I doing this? Why am I trapping you here? Because you exist, and if you exist, you feel. Feel what? Feel me.”

Open your eyes

"Open your eyes, and open them wide. This is important.”

Look up to the skies and see

“Have you ever looked up to the skies and stood for a minute? What did you think? Did you contemplate the rich cerulean blue? How there is a vast cosmic dome above us that is an infinite symphony of colors? And then did you look at the ground and wonder how we manage to wallow in such absolute filth and get away with dismissing everything as completely fine? This is a strong word, but I hate you. I hate everyone in fact, and I hate the planet Earth. We are not good people. You make my job hard. Really hard.”

A force tugs your chin. You look down, and then up. She now wears a blindfold, cyaneous and tightly wrapped. Sadly, she shakes her head.

“One part of my job is this blindfold. So I lied. I never saw any beautiful thing. I never saw anything bad either. That’s why I wear this. So I don’t quit my job. ”

I’m just a poor boy girl, I need so sympathy

"Don’t feel obligated to sympathize with me. I’m a terrible person sometimes. I can be VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVnd so on and so forth. That's just with A."