I cordially greet a papier-mache stitchdoll who carries a queen's name and a baronesses bearing. She ignores me. Or maybe she doesn't hear. The net result is the same.
She holds court for the throngs of mediocre and predictable. She shouts for beheadings. Her insipid subjects scurry to obey. They offer laymen condolences woven from social stereotypics. She scoffs at someone else's perceived victimization, while she shrieks of her own oppression. How very royal.
I watch it all quietly. Maybe not unnoticed. A ravenous stenographer with stapled lips.
11:27 p.m. - 2015-08-12
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