One thing I don't like about... Call them half-truths, if you wish— One thing I don't like about lies is that the really good ones affect not just the person being lied to, but the liar himself. When you tell a really good lie, you are changed. Comedians lie for effect; it makes them comedians. That's a magician's trick. But real liars... Con men, philosophers, politicians— When you have to tell an audience that you're their savior, knowing not a word of what you're saying is true, knowing that the system is corrupt and the status quo is king, knowing you are but flesh and bone, you have to become their idol. Their god. Their dime store messiah.
It changes you. Sometimes names are changed, to protect the guilty. Sometimes whole lives are sacrificed on the altar of the lie. Sometimes, whole nations. We live and die by our lies.
This is not a political post. Drivel, maybe. Expository at best.
Sometimes the world forces us to lie. Sometimes we force it upon ourselves. Sometimes we don't even know we're doing it.
And then the line blurs between liar and author. If we are the authors of our own destinies, why can't we be wealthy? Beautiful? Have endless strength? Never fail tests, never get sick... Never get it wrong.
We can be superhuman in our lie. And in that superhumanity, perhaps our lies take on a shape and a shadow all their own. Perhaps the lie desires to end all existence, to end reality as we know it. So great is its desire to exist, its jealousy of that which already is, that it tears at the fabric of reality.
But what of the author? "Buy me a Boat" was one of my favorite album titles of recent memory, because the irony is that song probably bought him a boat, a truck to pull it, etc., etc.
Keep up, I'm streaming Black Pumas and sad that October 33 never happened.
We can argue with what is. But there are parameters.
Honesty has to come before gratitude.
I have a good life. I have people who love me, more than enough to eat, a roof over my head, a freaking amazing dog, friends who would give me the literal shirts off their backs.
If I'm honest.
Part of me hates that. You know, a negative experience can give you a side of yourself you never knew you had. Each time you're pushed to the ground by whatever force, it becomes a tool in your chest. Every time you are attacked, you'll think of those things. "How can I show the world my pain today?" It becomes a competition.
Race to the bottom.
I am grateful for honesty. I am grateful for discernment. I am grateful for knowing the truth.
I am also a writer.
I want to write a future so beautiful that it changes a generation. And it starts with growing my family..
If I can manage to get my appointments done this month, that will be a step. I need strength. I need sleep. Sleep study on the 17th, retinopathy at some point— wish me luck.
It's time to stop being afraid of reality, and face it.
per aspera ad astra
