Jay Sizemore is Dead

Obituary

The wish for death always comes true
eventually
we all run out of breath
for wishing.

So many have wished I would die
like a candle on a birthday cake
that just won’t burn out,
but every fuse
flickers down to the powder
before it sets loose
the dynamite or the smoke.

Isn’t every death
natural causes?
All suicides occur on planet Earth.
All murderers convert oxygen into CO2.
Cancer exists in your DNA
from the moment you are born.

They found Jay Sizemore
in the bathtub
with a Ziplock bag
over his head,
duct tape closed
around the neck,
bottle of wine half full
on the lip of his porcelain tub,
water still warm
and cloudy.

They found Jay Sizemore’s body
sprawled out
near the foot of the bed,
one hand curled inward
like the corner of paper
left in sun,
as if starting to wave you closer
for one last whispered phrase,
“You are alone.”
Except that the face is gone
along with the lips,
his other hand still cradling
the trigger and stock
of the shotgun.

They found Jay Sizemore
hanging from his ceiling fan,
an exercise weight band
pulled taut in slow descent,
there were pictures scattered
all about the bed,
screen shots from Twitter,
Facebook and Instagram,
the most awful of mirrors
where the reflection
is just that inner pain
finding its way
from one body to another.

At the finish, it was all just words
and no one knew
where they ended or began,
just that nobody died
until they really died.

Censored reviewed by Robert Peate

CENSORED: a Review by Robert Peate

Jay Sizemore is a poet who has been through a lot of grief for his poetry. In 2015, he wrote a poem called “Scowl”, riffing off the format but not the substance of Allen Ginsburg’s “Howl”, and some readers objected to his word and persona choices as he critiqued American society, particularly censorship and shaming. Mr. Sizemore suffered so much abuse for this poem that he decided to show his critics both how they had made him feel, turning the tables to illustrate poetically what he felt they had done to him, and how wrong it was to treat anyone in the ways they had treated him—by amplifying his persona into what they had accused him of being, as if to say, “You think I’m a monster? Here is a real monster, and the real monster is you [this is what you did to me].” He then released Misogynist, a collection of poems critiquing the Patriarchy via the persona of a man who hates women. To say this subtlety was misunderstood would be an understatement. Mr. Sizemore, for playing only too well the part his critics had assigned him, was then assumed to be even worse than they had thought and accused of every abuse under the Sun except perhaps murder. His career was adversely affected as well-meaning fools ran to “warn” the poetry community against him, when poets are the ones who need protection from lynch mobs both real and virtual. Not only were they wrong, they raced to behave in exactly the censorious ways Mr. Sizemore had critiqued. Due to the outcry of those who felt “threatened” by his using their names on his poems, he was even forced to change his poetry names by Amazon. His work polarized even as his points were missed, and to comply with Amazon’s request, he re-released Misogynist without the names as CENSORED. This is a brilliant work maligned by those who cannot see the forest for the trees, and its entire message is that of nonviolence. It is amazing how people can understand just enough not to understand something and run with the misunderstanding, but as Jane Austen said, “Vanity working on a weak head produces every sort of mischief.” The vanity in this case was the presumption his critics understood what they did not.

This book is a classic indictment of the Patriarchy employing satire, satire that at times has been misunderstood as serious.

Mr. Sizemore has said, “The point of the poems is although the poems are violent and offensive, and the people who want to see such work censored from the public think they are acts of violence, no actual violence has been committed, and their reactions to the work prove the inanity of their response. And thus the mindset that goes into advocating for censorship.”

From “A Modest Proposal” to All in the Family, satire has always been a risky business, yielding responses from those who took the satire as serious. The risk is compounded when one’s tone is not insouciant but brooding and menacing to add to the performance, to illustrate the wrongs that need to be righted. This is why some thought it a good idea to eat homeless orphans, that Archie Bunker was a hero, or that Jay Sizemore was the monster he depicted, though no one ever accused Stephen King of being “It”. This is why Mr. Sizemore himself, having experienced the initial wave of hatred and angst when Misogynist was misunderstood, saw fit to write in big letters in the front of his revised work, “THIS IS A WORK OF SATIRE. SATIRE!” To be fair, with poetry titles such as “Kill All Women”, it is easy to see why his work of all works would need to come with such a notice.

“Kill All Women”, the first poem in the set, lists the ways in which a world without women would be different. The narrator seems pleased to list reasons why we don’t need women, problems with relationships and responsibility we could do without, and what we do with possessions we no longer need or want. He says the woman of the future will not exist, “having gone the way of the cassette tape/and the fond memory of the brothel/where you once got a blowjob with your cup of coffee.” The patriarch narrator seems at the end to remember at least carnal pleasure if not the satisfactions of romantic love, but the entire poem, from beginning to end, is an indictment of the Patriarchy treating women as commodities. The narrator imagines that women are the problem, but it is clear that his attitude is. This is intentional. Yes, a world without women would feature far fewer of the problems he cites, but the ultimate larger problem of loneliness and alienation, only marginally acknowledged by the narrator, would outweigh all else. His slight nod to the fond memories of the past, the short shrift he gives to any sort of human relationship, however, serves to show there is much more left unsaid. While it is easy to see how a less-than-careful reading of such a poem could yield misunderstanding and outrage, it is easier to see that a careful reading yields a critique of the ownership of women. The actual message of the poem is that to kill all women would be to kill all joy. Without explicitly stating how undesirable a world without women would be, the narrator’s realizations and lack thereof speak for themselves.

In the very next poem, “Not a Metaphor”, the Virgin Mary attacks the narrator as if a vampire. He defends her and himself, saying, “You are not a metaphor for all women, as I am not the tyranny of evil men.” Hearing these words and remembering herself, Mary is then liberated from her god and church, from the Patriarchy, free to be herself, “as we fuck like dogs/who enjoy raping one another/in the most animal sense of the word.” The narrator is liberated too, from the burden of being associated with the Patriarchy that enslaved her and all womankind. This represents a positive triumph over society and tradition, as Mary and the narrator overcome all else for the pleasure of self and the other. “The most animal sense of the word” does not include human concepts of informed consent but implies, rather, the completely carnal instinct that uses the partner as a vehicle of release—without subjugation. Amazingly, some read this poem as advocating rape, when what it does is advocate freedom from the Patrarichy for both men and women. It becomes harder to see how this could be misunderstood. One can only imagine that preconceived notions have a way of becoming self-fulfilling prophecies. We see what we wish to see.

Titles such as, “How to Make People Hate You”, “Hate Me ‘Cause You Ain’t Me”, “How to Gut a Panda”, and even “How to Make Love (by Jack the Ripper)” make it hard to see these poems as anything other than sardonic/sarcastic/facetious witticisms encapsulated in time-release forms, yet some manage to do so.

The fact is, there is violence in these poems, but as in Shakespeare, the violence serves the message of peace, and there is much more going on in them than violence. It takes but looking to see what is there.

In some of the poems, the poet adopts a violent persona, in others he defends himself against violence. But each poem represents a battle, a struggle, with a different outcome. To dismiss this collection as trash is to reveal one’s own ignorance and prejudices. It is nothing of the sort. Jay Sizemore is a Rich White American Straight Man employing the powers of his privileges to fight injustice by holding it up to the scorching white light of criticism in the form of satire. Not everyone has the stomach for such challenging art, and Mr. Sizemore’s nouns, verbs, and adjectives are not for the faint of heart, but his work is first rate.

Where I come from, if one person says, “You misunderstood me,” the other person asks how. In this case, we have readers who dare to say, “No, I didn’t.” The author explicitly states his work is misunderstood and explains what it means, yet readers say they know better than the man who wrote it? We are to condemn him as violent, not those who deny the author his agency and right to declare his own meaning and intent? What kind of backward world is this? These same critics claim to oppose the denial of agency while denying Mr. Sizemore his? Oh, the hypocrisy.

We read for knowledge and hope wisdom will come on its own. Books cannot provide it. Writers hope readers will bring wisdom to the table, but they don’t always. Jay Sizemore’s poetry is a bold, provocative statement to a world that is often not ready. Shakespeare advised writing to please the one person of discernment in the back row who knew better than the rabble. That is what Jay Sizemore does. Let us hope it does not get him killed in the end.

In “How to Make People Hate You” Mr. Sizemore argues that the way to make people hate you is to tell the truth. Honesty is apparently not always the best policy. When you tell the truth, you bleed from the wounds you suffer, but because you told the truth, you are yourself to blame. “You see, you have been biting your own hand/and then complaining about the pain.” If you are punished for telling the truth, you should not complain. The reception to his poems proves that he knows of what he speaks, and while he does not complain of fair criticism, he certainly criticizes the unfair.

“Shambella Cinderella” is the first poem in the collection that contains flaws worth mentioning. It is borne of a great idea, critiquing Cinderella’s role in the Patriarchy without blaming her: “Cinderella, you once were beautiful just how you were/but the mirror convinced you you deserved much more/You sold your soul for a castle in the distant clouds.” This is a great indictment of the Patriarchy, and her fate is accordingly cruel to add to the indictment, but there are minor details missing: what is her cause of death, and who were the culprits? I think a stanza on the Prince’s motivations would have been helpful. As it is, we are left with the ephemeral “They dumped you ruined, in the forest alone.” Others might not mind the lack of detail as much as I did; that is just how my mind works.

I could survey each poem in the collection, but I will end with the dystopian vision of “Immaculate Ejaculation”. “This is the fate of an entire gender,” the poet explains, “to exist for another’s pleasure/her body parts displaced/and used to build some elaborate machine/that even Lovecraft would cower in fear of.” This machine, the Great Masturbation Mechanism, possesses women’s severed heads rotating on “the cocks of Patriarchy”. Certainly no one could take this as praise of the Patriarchy but an accurate description of how the entire world has created a fearsome female-enslavement machine. Does it really need explaining that if even Lovecraft would cower in fear of it, it is worse than Cthulhu? I have seen very few works that encapsulate the Patriarchy with such an effective nightmarish image. Of course, most readers seem not to have reached this breathtaking vision. Most readers seem to have stopped after the first two stanzas, in which the anonymous narrator announces his intention to create the machine because the woman’s “usual holes ripe for fucking are all used up.” When he announces that a woman’s “life means nothing”, he means on this evil Earth.

Mr. Sizemore should be hailed as a saint for taking on the Patriarchy with such ferocious criticism. How would the Taliban like to hear they live for masturbation, employing women as sex devices? What would they do to anyone who said that?

It should be mentioned that in the first version of this book, Misogynist, Mr. Sizemore named some of his poems after his real-life antagonists. Naturally, this did not go over well. Strangely, some of them felt threatened enough to complain to Amazon, which forced Mr. Sizemore to rename his poems and book. Mr. Sizemore explained regarding the poetry-name issue: “The names I used are first names of people who have targeted me and worked to blacklist me from a secret Facebook group. The poems themselves of course have no real connection to anyone, but I used those first names knowing those people would find them and assume they were about them, because of what they accused me of in the past. They used that accusation to ruin my writing career, so I hoped they would believe I wrote about them as a play on their previous accusations. It was a sort of purposeful martyrdom for free speech.” He tricked and taunted them to show what haters they were, and it worked. Unfortunately, this came at the price of suffering fools with pitchforks.

Some mention is made of people feeling threatened by Mr. Sizemore sending them his book. He says, “For the record, I only sent two people a copy of the book, and they were supposed to be my friends. Also, I had sent them all my books. And I had told them I would finish the book despite everyone freaking out and that I would send it to them when done, so it wasn’t like a threat, just a fulfillment of my project.” It is clear there has been much misunderstanding of Mr. Sizemore, his work, and his intentions. As someone who has been misunderstood himself, though not to the same degree, I can relate to this.

The best art challenges us to discuss, understand, and fight evil, often by highlighting abuses. Jay Sizemore’s recent poetry collection CENSORED is in this category. It is strong, not for everyone, but it is not anti-women. It is pro-reconciliation. Or, as another acquaintance said, readers who can’t read worry me.

P. S. For writing this review, I was told I was “trolling the lit community”. For saying I was a member of the global community of writers and artists, I was told, “I get that you write, but that doesn’t make you a ‘member’ of anything but Jay’s fan club.” Such a statement would be laughable if it weren’t such a frightening attempt at intellectual tyranny.

The book is alive and well

I have a new distributor for MISOGYNIST. Despite activities of the poetry gestapo, there are many publishing platforms. The current distributor has no content clause, they place all content responsibility on the author, so there’s no term violation that crybabies about violence in poetry can exploit to censor an author. The book should even show back up on Amazon soon. In the meantime, I have a private link I can send for anyone interested in buying the book too controversial for it to exist on Createspace or Lulu. Contact me to get one. Thanks for your support.

New book MISOGYNIST is now available

Here it is, folks. Love it or hate it, use it to burn down my life, this is the culmination of two years of people trying to sabotage me with defamation. This is the result of being labeled something you are not. These are the poems of that persona and the poem that started it all. Enjoy, and go fuck yourselves. Maybe someday I’ll write a sequel. Either way, some years down the line I will surely enjoy revealing my pseudonym. Till then, goodbye.

Available now

New poem from work in progress

Jeanne

Your love is like a winding sheet,
a cancer in the mouth,
a wound filled with fire.

Every time you speak my name
something beautiful withers and dies,
on the spiraling vine of the universe.

Your voice is a coagulation,
your face is curdled milk,
your cunt is a craggy cove of death.

The future demands your absence,
like a star that folds in on itself
and destroys the neighboring light.

You hate me, but your hatred is like a dagger
in the heart of a shadow,
a shadow cast from your own mind.

When you remove that blade from the glass
of the dark and dirtied floor,
you’ll find you’ve been stabbing yourself

instead of someone else
this entire time, and wonder
how you ever blamed the darkness.

Coming Soon

On Misogyny

Well, wasn’t that a fun few days? For most people who have been flocking to this page, I assume not. Some people, who have supported me through some interesting situations in the past, probably thought I had gone completely insane. Others were finding the me that they have already thought existed for quite some time now. Well, I am very sane. And, you might be surprised to hear, I am quite pleased with how this all unfolded, as it afforded me the opportunity to once again prove the inherent dangers of social media, and how it so easily devolves into groupthink. This, after having abandoned Facebook and Twitter, and now being banned from having an Instagram account, at least through the MAC address on my phone (I assume).
So, how exactly did it go down this time? Well, once again, it was spurred by an online argument with a former acquaintance of mine. The initial argument itself, was quite petty and juvenile, I freely admit, but it happened, and as such gave the person I was arguing with opportunity to use social media to drag me over the coals. What was the argument over? Okay, well, if you were my facebook friend this last month, you probably know I had begun taking a comedic slant with my poetry persona, and I had done a couple of live readings in this persona, utilizing a large plush mask of a cat that I had bought at Walmart. These had garnered quite the positive response, and several people told me I should keep doing it and make a web series out of it, which I was already considering to do, and was plotting my next material to use as such. Then, I saw a post from this friend, who stated she had bought a plush mask, and was going to do a reading. When I saw this, I thought, well that is interesting, I guess this idea of mine is better than I thought, so I commented on her post that “Hey, I am a trend setter!” to let her know that I knew she was copying my concept. She initially responded, “I didn’t know you did that?” and I said, “yes, twice,” and the funny thing about this interaction, is that I know she was playing dumb about this, because I clearly remember her viewing the videos I did, as it tells you who is watching while you are doing live feeds. So, I have to wonder, why deny that? Didn’t really matter I guess, but then she deleted my comment on her post. Why do that?
So, after the video aired of her reading Sylvia Plath poems or something, I just noticed the vast difference in responses to her video from mine. She was clothed in a white tanktop, nipples poking through the fabric as she had on no bra, and white panties. And her video had over 600 views already and about fifty comments. Looking through the comments, there were some men on there asking her to undress and such. So, my immediate thought on this was, Man, I should get breast implants! And this I posted as a status update on my timeline, as a joke of course, but also to take a harmless jab at her stealing my idea and gaining more views due to her tantalizing clothing choices. She got angry, and commented seriously like thirty seconds later, saying she thought I was devaluing her skills and claiming people only watched her video because she had breasts. And then a mutual friend, who was obviously looking to pick a fight with me, chimed in that she agreed. I tried to play it off as a joke, but they kept on piling on about it, and then another mutual friend commented, and then I told the person in question exactly what I thought about the whole thing, about how yes, she has a history of using her body as a means of getting attention, and in fact, posing nude all over the internet and tumblr, and that she knew she stole my idea, but kept denying it. I made another status about this exchange, calling her out on her hypocrisy, and how she was claiming to be a victim now of slutshaming because I mentioned her past and what she was doing now despite claiming wanting to be taken seriously as an artist.
Well, folks, this is where shit got ugly. I was being yelled at on all sides for being a woman hater and a misogynist and a disgusting human being. And for what? For arguing with one person over how they gained their audience? This is all it takes to be ganged up on and labeled a disgusting waste of human breath? Apparently so. I was very upset by this turn of events, especially the falling out that occurred between me and the mutual friend, whom I thought was actually a real friend, and not just some internet flake. So, I got extremely drunk. So drunk in fact, I do not remember much of the night at all. When I woke up, I found where I had posted lots of horrid things on Twitter, Instagram, and goodreads. I deleted the bad tweets and corrected what I did on goodreads, but it was too late to fix everything, as I had been blocked by some involved.
This led to me making my decision to leave social media, and I deactivated my facebook and twitter accounts, feeling like it was best for my mental health if I just took a break from it all for a while. Unfortunately, I still had access to facebook, and my curiosity got the better of me, so I went in to see what people were saying about the fact that I had left. I shouldn’t have been surprised that the person I argued with was now calling me a cyber bully and using my absence as an opportunity to make herself look like the victim. Instead of just letting it go, I found where she egged it on, making more posts about it, and garnering comment after comment about how I was a disgusting pig and I was just jealous of her success and I was just a woman hater threatened by women. This of course made me feel like shit. I had had one argument with her and now she had gotten her fiancé to call me a piece of shit, end his connection with me, and was using all her resources to slam my name in the dirt, simply because I dared to suggest she was doing what so many attractive people do and use that sex appeal for her own personal gain. I will be the first to admit that I do not care if people do this. I have long been a supporter of women who do what they want with their bodies, including supporting film stars who make a living in the porn industry, sex workers, etc. That is perfectly okay with me. Do what you want. What bothers me is doing that, and then denying it, acting like people who comment on such things are in the wrong when it is clearly what they are going for, and to act ignorant of it is deceitful and petty and naïve. She denies this fact about her much like she denies stealing my idea. And that isn’t just a coincidence I would imagine.
What does a poet do when he has been hurt? Well, I imagine, most poets like me would do what I did: write poems. In my short experience with writing on the internet I have found I have a unique ability to piss people off with my words. And, that is what I did. I wrote two poems to piss off the persons who had wronged me and were still dragging my name through the mud. Now, I thought these pieces were pretty subtle, but there was elements of violence and sex in them. The problem is, the people who I wrote these for, instantly knew I wrote them about the emotional subject at hand, even through such a skewed perspective, and they were outraged. This is where things started getting very interesting. They used this opportunity to again drag my name through the gutter even more, with the shares of the posts from Instagram and my website garnering hundreds of comments each, and just one after the other of admirers or supporters stating again and again that I am a piece of shit garbage human who doesn’t deserve to be alive.
Look, man, I am a stubborn person. Stubborn as a mule sometimes, and I just hate seeing people think they are winning, when they are just hearing what they want to hear. Ever since 2015 I have been dealing with similar crap. My reputation is total shit, because people have done this mob shaming trick to me multiple times. No one cares who you really are outside the internet world, who you are as a human with a real life and a job and a wife and a mortgage and a dog and two cats. No, all they care about it whether you agree with every single view they have on every single subject known to man. So, if you try to present ideas to them outside this view, it becomes a tug of war match, the only problem is, they call in all their echo chamber members to come pull on their side of the rope, so you end up dragged into the shit. Pay attention to how interactions work online now, and this is what you will see time and again. One person, or a minority number or people, will disagree, and then be roundly bullied into submission by the mob of people the original poster has surrounded themselves with, to drown out the voice of dissent and make sure that they come away feeling morally superior in the end. It’s a sea of voices all trying to shout down the opposition until they are exhausted from the noise and just give up. Many people lose friendships this way. It becomes a situation of its best to just not be connected and to find more people who think like you do, thus further entrenching the echo chambers into their own segregated groups. This is really unhealthy and bad for the world. I have a high suspicion that this is what allowed Donald Trump to win the White House, other than the Russia leaks and conspiracy of course.
Me being who I am, I thought this was as good a time as any to seize an opportunity to prove a point about what social media has done to society and what the echo chamber mentality does to drive wedges between groups or people. Twitter is probably more guilty of this than facebook, but for me, I have seen them both equally as guilty of it in the end. Instead of sulking off into the void, I used my previous experiences with this type of thing, and joined them with my thoughts on the latest events, and began writing more poetry. I took what had angered people last time the shame mob really went for me, and this time I upped the ante. For two years now I have had to listen to the cries of outrage from internet personalities and groups about a very small portion of my collective work as a writer, which they use and feel justified in using to label me very hurtful marks of shame, such as racist, misogynist, and sexist. Of course, people who know me in the real world know this isn’t the case, but there is no arguing with an internet mob once they make their mind up about someone. My thought process on this was, if they already think I am the most horrible misogynist alive, what would happen if I pushed that button and took it even further, pushed it about as far as I could get away with? What would the result be?
The result would be another internet outrage, people calling for my imprisonment, for my death, for my suicide, people releasing my personal information like my address, phone number, people working to get my writing pulled from every magazine I have ever been published in, people working to get me banned from Instagram and Facebook, editors saying I would never ever be published again in the literary community, people filing police reports that I threatened them even when they live states or continents away. It truly reached the point of absolute absurdity, and for what? Because I gave them what they wanted. I allowed them to see me write the most hateful, misogynistic, violent material I could possibly imagine anyone ever writing. The poems I wrote in this persona were like poems you would find in a serial killer’s notebook, or in the journal of someone locked in a mental institution with severe social pathologies like psychopathic or sociopathic disorders. I freely admit the poems were so egregiously over the top to garner the most repulsive and knee-jerk reactions of disgust I could possibly get, and boy did that work like a charm. People were so quick to once again call in the internet cavalry of like-minded individuals, many of whom were already itching for an excuse to put my name up on the crucifix of martyrdom for being the world’s worst man. It was almost too easy.
You might be wondering, why I would do this, and I can understand the curiosity, as I really don’t know myself to be honest. But ever since 2015 when I went through the turmoil of publishing a couple of really offensive poems, I have not recovered, and have felt like I was unfairly vilified by the lit community. As such, the amount of work I have been able to see published was dwindling down to almost nothing, and I felt like I had lost practically all the supporters I had previously had in my corner. Basically, I had nothing left to lose. I had already self-published all my poetry manuscripts that I had put together since undertaking the endeavor or trying to be a writer, and was already planning to start utilizing a pseudonym going forward if I continued to write new material. This situation proved a perfect opportunity to show the literary community, as it exists on the internet anyway, exactly how foolish they can be when going on one of these outrage feeding frenzies.
Am I a horrible person? Do I hate women? Would I ever hurt a woman? Of course not. That is fucking absurd! Anyone who knows me in life, knows who I am and what I am capable of, and hurting people, especially hurting women, is so out of bounds from my personality, it just blows my mind that so many folks online are ready to believe that THAT is who I am. My friends who knew what was going on during this episode were laughing about it. My wife was laughing about it. It’s just so fucking silly. Not once did it ever even matter who I really am, or what I might have been trying to say, all that mattered was they saw something gross, violent, and repugnant from their perspective, and it lined up with their own presuppositions about me from what they heard or thought, based only on hearsay and internet noise. And again, that is the point. When you are engaging with someone on the internet, the biases and cognitive dissonance are double enforced, because your perspective is limited through a two-way filter. One side, there is a person who shows you what they want to show you (think of a creepy old man in a chat room for instance, trying to hook up with young girls or something, or a phone sex operator with a super sultry voice, but an entirely unappealing physique), and on the other side, you have a person seeing what they want to see due to the ideas they have formed based on very limited information, but those ideas become reality because that information is all they have to base the idea upon.
What is the lesson here? Stop leaping to conclusions on the internet. Stop trying to ruin people’s lives simply because they disagreed with something you said, or posted something you found offensive. Please remember, everything is voluntarily consumed online. If you don’t like someone because they exposed you to something you disagree with, you have the option to not communicate with them. If someone makes art you disapprove of, you have the option of not consuming that art. You always have the choice of what types of ideas and people you expose yourself to, what media you consume, and in the end, how you react and engage with things you disagree with is what should define you. You can either try to silence ideas that you disagree with, and ruin the lives of those people with those ideas. Or you can let them live, and allow them to fail or flourish on the merits of the ideas themselves. Bad ideas and bad things will always exist. And there will always be bad people. But artists have the freedom to explore them all and shine a light, shine a mirror on them, so we know more about the human experience and how to tell the difference between the truth and a lie. Thank you.