Pretend

You read, you write, day after day. It either entertains you or not. You can read every fact that exists about food and human biology. All of it. You will order your pizza anyway. You can see all the data that random corporation extracts from you. You will open Gmail anyway. You have stances, ideals, and all that shit. On the surface. In words. You cry about the semantic web presented over 27 JavaScript files and broken HTML. You write about a book you read yesterday and one you will read tomorrow. Maybe split it with a banana cake and a picture of a bird. Your 2000-word deep analysis of some fictional character from the latest TV series is safe. Costs nothing. Nobody will punish you. Nobody will argue. Nobody will read it. Including this.