Valentines day, the machine provides the contacts, here’s the list. Choosing a baby, she is handed a list of profiles, the list again. Divorced from reality, what do you call it, a list. Small child, recognizes the light, no form in deviancy, has open eyes, can see clearly, the angels that are always hanging out, there is a light. The eyes don’t squint, its’ a see through world. Then the darkness, those who are hiding inside themselves. How they look at me, the child knows, has been duped before, their interest in me weird. They don’t seem that friendly to me.
What if small children could read your true intentions, not towards them, but towards everyone else, just imagine it. Mothers can be blinded by Love, but small children, are souls who are not yet tinged with bad experience, not yet.