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Greetings and welcome, ~jack, but you'll have no personal truths from me, as there are none to tell. My truths whisper only of the void, the unknown World-Without-Us, the literally unthinkable. Of course, for the sake of sociality, I may be convinced to share a lie or two.
Thanks!
And greetings to you!
Please, do share your lies, they are true as long as we know they are lies. That's the beauty of truth, being what it is, when and where it is, a fact or a certain kind of tact in dealing with our day-to-day half-truths and white lies. I applaud that, and I certainly understand what you mean by the unknown World-Without-Us. I've struggled for years now with idea of "leaving". I've done nothing but write about it. In poems, in other writings. But there is hope, some kind of inexplicable hope, maybe of love, of awe, "to walk in beauty" in a known World-With-Us (this world, but with new eyes), and that hope is what gets me up in the morning. That, and coffee, lots of fucking coffee, and two or three smokes – I know, it's bad for you, you're being cheated, fucked, poisioned, whatever…
Lies masked as truths are a completely different thing. We all know that. But do we adhere to it? To it's simple truth, the truth that a lie is only a lie if people say it is? I say, then, reduct the shit out of it, to the absurd. That's the only way to go. Problem solved. Like "Waiting for Godot", whoever the fuck he or she is?
Do birds write? No, they don't. The haven't got the time for it. They are already free.
I'll always be a word man, better than a bird man. – Jim Morrison
Two black coffees please, one two go, the other for this fine gentleman.
Later…