?Interrobang! · Track 74 · middle
Which Version of You Is the Performance
OBJECT (intimate, what Sisukiro found): printouts of the online posts that meant the most. OWNER (re-linked by Sisukiro): Authentic Aaron — fake-executive stand-in from China; note the irony of the name. FOUND AT: the uncontacted core of the Vale do Javari. THE (UN)LIKELY STORY & THE UNANSWERABLE QUESTION: Aaron poses as a fake Western exec for branding though he's Authentic; left printouts of his realest online moments in the most protected forest. Which version of you is the performance?
Lyrics
[Intro] February heat, thick as a wet blanket. Vale do Javari. The air smells of wet clay and something sharp, like crushed nuts. And here, under a fern, wrapped in plastic that’s already sweating… A stack of paper. [Verse 1] Your name for the job was Aaron. Authentic Aaron. A white face for hire on a stage in Shenzhen. The right look for the brand launch, the handshake for the deal. A head of blond hair to put the investors at ease. You stood on a podium in a borrowed suit, speaking words written by someone else. You were the authentic westerner. That was the performance. [Chorus] But these pages, Aaron... this ink bleeding in the humidity... Who is this man, arguing online at 3 a.m. about a film from 1998? Who is this boy, posting a picture of a lost dog? Which version of you is the performance? The one they paid for by the hour? Or the one you printed out and carried to the end of the world? [Verse 2] I smooth out a page. It’s warm to the touch. A long thread of comments from a forum I don't recognize. You wrote, “It’s not about being right, it’s about being heard.” Someone named 'Starlight7' replied, “I hear you.” You printed that. Her reply. Three words from a stranger, carried five thousand miles. More real than the applause in the conference room. [Chorus] These pages, Aaron... this ink bleeding in the humidity... Who is this man, confessing a fear of heights in a private group? Who is this soul, mourning a musician he never met? Which version of you is the performance? The one with the confident smile on the brochure? Or the one you brought here, to the people who have no word for 'user profile'? [Bridge] Did you think you could leave one self behind? Bury the ghost from the machine in real dirt? You brought your truest words to the last place that has no alphabet for them. An offering to the uncontacted, the un-curated. A confession to the canopy. [Outro] The plastic gives up. The rain comes. The ink runs down the page like a tear. Authentic Aaron dissolves into the clay. Which one was you?