Fauxpamine

We know. You’re looking for something. Not another beige affirmation in a minimalist frame. Not another “live laugh love” printed on an oat milk background. You’re looking for proof that your brain actually exists. Everything around you looks so curated it’s practically in witness protection. The world’s lost its references, its inside jokes, its glorious, unhinged little tangents. But you . . . you still have the monologue. The weird one. The one that sounds like an essay, a meme, and a confession all at once. So stop repressing it. Start displaying it.