Perspective

what is revisionism...

but lies emboldened by ignorance...

Perspective

: Why don't you tell the truth?

She stared at him.

: Really?

: The truth's the truth, isn't it?

: I don't see how it's not black and white.

She sighed.

: What if I told you, the truth isn't the truth?

~ * ~

: There's no mention of this in your journals...

: No

: You write everything down...

: Yes

: Yet, you wrote a story about this...

: Yes

: That you revised...

: 16 times

~ * ~

I never wrote it down. After all this time. Why?

~ * ~

: You know. This is hard to talk about.

: You don't have to tell me...

: I do.You asked about a painful experience. And. Well. That was a painful experience.

: No. Really. It's okay.

~ * ~

: Remember when I talked to you about...?

: Yes

: Well, I remember...

~ * ~

: You told your roommate?

: Yes

: You were confused?

: Yes

: Why?

~ * ~

: What the hell is wrong with you?!

He shrugged.

: What?

: Seriously?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!!

: Look. I was just trying to help.

~ * ~

: I didn't know what to make of it. Wrap my head around it. I mean. How do you wrap your head around something like that? 

: What happened?

~ *~

: Jesus fucking Christ... there are so many versions of this...

: What do you mean?

: Every time I remember it... Every time I talk about it...

: It's crystal clear...

: Like I'm reliving it...

: But... Fuck... Every time I think I know... I don't...

~ * ~

Even now. I can't write about it. Even now. I worry. One day, I'll forget.

~ * ~

: You know. You don't have to tell me.

: I know.

He shook his head.

: I was there. Remember?

: Oh my God. You were there.

~ * ~

This isn't helping. I'm not getting better.

~ * ~

: I don't know what to do...

: I don't know how to get through this...

Curled in upon herself, she sobbed.

: Baby. It's gonna be alright...

: No. It's not. I can't do this anymore...

: Yes. You can. Trust me. I'm telling you. You can.

The door opened.

~ * ~

: Don't send me home.

: I'm sorry.

With clipboard in hand, he exited.

~ * ~

: You know what?

: What?

: I'm so happy. That I'm awake. That I remember.

: The truth is shit wrapped in shit -

: But a life full of shit is better than a life that's a lie.

: I love you.

: I love you too.

Epilogue

~ * ~

I would tell the whole truth.

But.

The rules are the rules.

~ * ~

: What happened?

: What you told the roommate? Or the version after that? What you told the friend? Or the version after that? What you told the doctor? Or the version after that? What you told the counselor? Or the version after that?

: Not to mention. The version in the journal. And the version after that.

: Then there's every version of every story that sounds like this story -

: Well. You get the idea.

: Are we supposed to believe you -

: When you're obviously making this up as you go along?

: Are we supposed to trust you -

: When your words flip flop like tell tale lies?

: Surely you don't expect us to believe you on faith?

: Clearly -

: Your aversion to the truth is a pathological aversion to accountability -

: And a pathological assertion of privilege.

~ * ~

: You can tell me, you know.

He waited expectantly.

: What would be the point?

: What satisfaction would there be -

: Telling you what you already know?

: Or is my misery why I'm here?

fin

~ * ~

Note

- conversants differ across conversations -

- sequencing is not temporally linear -

- conversations and sequences redacted and altered for brevity and clarity -

~ * ~

More

See also Roadmap to Silver Linings (tvfs)

Continued from The Angel and The Prophet (tvfs)

How do we believe and how do we know - what is true and what is not?

By questions? By answers?

How often are questions - answers - conclusions - assumptions?

For example:

(I) Is the truth more true - when it's in a journal? Is the truth less true - when it's not?

What if a journal is a conscious and unconscious record of untruths? How would you know? Is a journal or a diary, by virtue of identity as such, more true, than a narrative of fiction? Why? Because we're always honest with records, written and otherwise? Because we're always honest to our selves with our selves? Notwithstanding, fictional narratives that are composed as journals and diaries are as convincing as their purportedly real counterparts, are they not?

Therefore - do we not believe a journal is true and a fiction is not - based on nothing more than assumption and faith?

(II) Is the truth more true - when there's one version? Is the truth less true - when there's more?

What if an account of fiction is masquerading as singular unwavering recall? Like, a letter recalling an account. How would you know? Moreover, how would you know if such a letter was in fact revised until it unwavered from a certain singular account? Yet, when such deliberate artifice is compared to the uncertainty of inconsistency and inconstancy, is not the latter maligned in favor of the former? As if certain singularity is a guarantee of honesty? Notwithstanding, among one and all, gaps and incoherence and errors in memories and accounts and recollections, come and go and fluctuate without rhyme or reason; yet, how often do we conclude that such variations are unqualified evidence of our deceits, our dishonesties, our lies outright and of omission?

Therefore - do we not believe certain singularities are true and wavering multiplicities are not - on nothing more than assumption and faith?

(III) Is confusion less honest? Is clarity more honest?

How often is clarity the result of rehearsal? Isn't that what we ostensibly accomplish, when we repeat our recollections? Like stories we tell at parties, that we repeat among colleagues, that we repeat among friends, that we repeat among families, etc. Regardless of whether such recollections are true or untrue, such repetitions are as much rehearsals as exercises of acting which are exercises of pretension, are they not? On the other hand, inconsistency and inconstancy characteristic of confusion, is intractably maligned per definition as such. Despite the inevitability of confusion with respect to recollections of realities and actualities, why do we invariably prefer clarity as the hallmark of truth?

Because we believe confusion is less honest and clarity is more honest - on the basis on nothing more than assumption and faith?

Needless to say: we don't always believe the true truth and we don't always know the true truth - but, still, we attest and we affirm - that - our beliefs are inviolable and our knowledge is unequivocal - regardless of our actual ignorance of the true truth -

Such that - revisionism is a lie emboldened by ignorance.

For if we're ignorant of the true truth - are we not also ignorant of whether or not - an answer, a journal, a record, a narrative, an account, a recollection, a letter, a memory, a story, an act - is - true or not?

Much less - a revision, a rewrite - of reality, of actuality.

Indeed perspectives - Enlighten and obscure - What we see and what we don't.

Whether perspectives - Are ours - Or not.

Whether perspectives - Serve commandments of truth - Or not.

- M.

~ * ~

More

From Disney's Ratatouille:

Anton Ego: Yes, I think I do. After reading a lot of overheated puffery about your new cook, you know what I'm craving? A little perspective. That's it. I'd like some fresh, clear, well seasoned perspective. Can you suggest a good wine to go with that?

Mustafa: With ah what, sir?

Anton Ego: Perspective. Fresh out, I take it?

Mustafa: I am ah...

Anton Ego: Very well. Since you're all out of perspective and no one else seems to have it in this BLOODY TOWN, I'll make you a deal. You provide the food, I'll provide the perspective, which would go nicely with a bottle of Cheval Blanc 1947.

(quote above and more from Disney's Ratatouille @ IMDb (note: minor modifications are mine))

~ * ~

More

From A Few Good Men:

Col. Jessep: You want answers?

Kaffee: I think I'm entitled to them.

Col. Jessep: You want answers?

Kaffee: I want the truth!

Col. Jessep: You can't handle the truth!

Col. Jessep: Son, we live in a world that has walls and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Lt. Weinburg? I have a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for Santiago and you curse the Marines. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That Santiago's death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives. You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall, you need me on that wall. We use words like honor, code, loyalty. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom that I provide and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said 'thank you' and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a weapon and stand a post. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you are entitled to.

(quote above and more from A Few Good Men @ IMDb (note: minor corrections and modifications are mine))