Everyone has three faces.


The first face

is the face that others see.


It is not our true face

because nobody can actually see who we are

by looking at us.

When we wake up,

try to get through one more day

without dying, or going mad, or killing the world,

or all of the above,

we put on our face.

We are all actors, models, poets, liars,

putting on an outward face to show the world

because if they knew what our true face looked like

they would run and scream in horror.


The first face is not our true face.


The second face

is the face we present to ourselves.


This face is even more of a lie.

Living is a consistent delusion,

a game we play with ourselves

tricking our minds into believing that we have sentience,

we have agency,

we are a special snowflake,

we are different from everyone else.

This is wrong.

Not only are we not special, not unique,

but we gaze so raptly at the second face

that we manage to believe that we are gods,

or made in the image of gods,

and not nothing more than pieces of meat

screaming in agony



The second face is not our true face.


The third face, however,

is our true face. And this face is invisible.

Nobody can see this face. Nobody knows it’s there.

Everyone else can only see our first face,

and we can only see our second face.

We cannot know truly who we are.


For if we ever looked into our third face,

we would stare into the face of madness and meaninglessness,

and we would be forever scarred

and know truly who and what we are:

windblown dust, scattered and shouting,

left to drift Brownian on the cosmic wind



Nothing more.

Nothing special.


No one can see our true face.



Isn’t that a comfort?


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