"There is a taint of death, a flavour of mortality in lies...." Oh, that Conrad: Joseph, Joseph, Joseph where are you now? The flip-side of lies is, of course, the truth, and who the hell wants to hear the truth? My wife is pissy at me right now because of the truth--two doses of it this evening. A colleague will be pissy at me tomorrow after we have a truth session. And so it goes.
What is it with truth and lies, and how did we get so immersed in the latter and so estranged from the former? It wasn't so long ago we were all religious folk, at least on paper, and all of our collective soul asylums state that lies are bad and truth is so damned good--liberating even; so why don't we tell the truth all the time?
Lies are easier (and therefore more fun)--even little ones.
"How are you?"
(what should I say? I feel like shite, like leaving my wife and kids, like dropping out to the south for a few months so I can write in peace, like people no longer hold any charm for me...)
"Yah, ok I guess."
"Good. See you later."
And lies are that easy, quick, soon forgotten (if, indeed we even register them) and regular. Of course, those are the small harmless ones. We also have grand, piercing, manipulative, Machiavellian lies that we tell with great conviction and regularity. Is one brand of non-truth greater or lesser than another? I don't know. I simply know that instead of lying I told the truth and will do so again tomorrow, and now I’m in the doghouse, and I imagine, will be then as well.