Promises, Promises, Promises

Words are just words, aren't they?

Promises, Promises, Promises

*

Let's play a game.

A game called reality.

Where the true value of promises, is nothing.

Where the true value of words, is nothing.

Truly, this game is reality.

*

Oh, but wait, you say. Quick to rush to the defense of our word, so precious, so true.

Promises are expressed intentions.

That represent our desire to keep our word, especially when our promises are good and virtuous.

*

Then, what are promises that are empty?

Yea defender of words. Promises that are glib and appealing and oh so satisfying. With just the right balance of fabricated authenticity to sweep my heart of its strings. Like a recipe from The Book of Liars to sweet talk the liberated into parting with freedom. 

What about those promises?

*

That's obvious of course! Those promises are deceptions, ruses, cons!

And, wait, you continue.

Those promises are not all promises!

Some promises are sincere and genuine, you insist!

Your desperation to convince me, so palpable, so earnest. For it can't be true, that promises are nothing. For you promise me that our promise is everything.

*

How, dear friend, are promises distinguished from each other, that wear the same cloak of masque?

Notwithstanding, does such distinguishment, matter?

Because, at the end of the day, a promise is a promise.

A promise is not an act. Much less a certitude.

*

But, do bear with me, you plead.

A promise is an act. An act of intention. An act of desire. An act of wish.

Doesn't that mean something? Isn't that worth something? Doesn't that matter?

Or, are you dear bitch, as cold hearted as that?

So you sneer from upon your throne of self righteousness.

*

Oh dear, oh my, should I reconsider?

And why, oh why, would I?

For promises are promises and nothing more. Not here. Not now. Not ever have promises been more than words.

Oh spare me, your saccharine nothings that dissipate into smoke and mirrors in the light of exposure.

*

Then, how, can you be persuaded, if not but by promises?

For surely, you imply, our word, so good, so valiant, so true, to be hypocrisies!

How utterly intolerable, you spew vile self sanctimony with unrestrained vigor.

For isn't my word, good enough? Isn't my promise, good enough?

Who are you, for whom, no word is good enough?!

*

Ah, therein is the blind tryst of cooperative societies. Of promises as handshakes and promises as contracts and promises as inviolabilities, that liaison so engagingly with our desires so potent, our interests so conspicuous, our demands so facilely discerned by promise givers.

For though words are not good enough for me, verily, any word is good enough for you.

For whom words are as easy as toys that are broken with casual indifference to the burden of toil and the preciousness of play. For whom words are as easy as breathing in toxic ignorance and breathing out vicious intolerance.

Alas, so sinuous the truth of letters that nestle like friends of ever, that together, are something more than alone. Although what exactly is unclear.

*

You beriddle me! You baffle me! What nonsense, you protest. What incomprehensible balderdash, you sputter.

Promises are what I deliver! For I deliver on my promises!

This is my truth. This is my promise. That to defend my promise is to deliver!

*

I would expect nothing less from adherents of the New Religion of Old Lies. So devoted. So zealous. So ardent in our passion for promises, promises, promises.

But surely, we realize, that deliverers of empty promises are also deliverers of boxes upon boxes and reams upon reams of realities and truths fabricated from the thin aether of convenient fictions spun and spun and spun until, lo and behold, all of us are gifted with finery as fine as that of the Emperor whose new clothes are divine indeed.

That spots no more fall from leopards than stripes from zebras.

Such that to believe such miracles of spun honesty as pure as driven snow requires deliberate naivete in the face of tangible disintegrities.

*

But.

If you don't believe my promises, our promises, our good intentions...

What more can I do?

If you don't trust my words, our thoughts, our heartfelt sentiments...

What more can I say?

*

Oh but you've said and done quite enough already! Actions that speak louder than words, are also words uttered to sweep my heart from its strings. Thus, polished response, career answer, grandiose pander, eye watering boast, tell tale bombast, are actions too, one and all.

Indeed.

It is not extraordinarily difficult to examine attested actions and avowed characters against truths of patent intentions and blatant interests of all who weave lies like tailors of music and symphony and puppeteers of drama and circus to bamboozle the keen of spectacle with stale crackers foisted upon automatons of apathy.

Still.

Some of us refuse to blow past the the smoke and break through the mirrors and throw open the doors to the walls of our minds.

To see what is there to see for all willing to face the game.

fin

More (I)

Perhaps, it's not the game, but the players.

Perhaps, the game is never about the game and always about the players.

*

Then why do we affect affronted surprise when players don't play by the rules?

Are we really so naive that we believe that such 'affronted surprise' is genuine when players never play by the rules?

As if:

Always playing by the rules is The Reality for All.

As if:

You always play by the rules in reality.

*

This game is reality.

In the real world, money and power and wealth and influence, buys out of the game the many play and buys into the game the few play.

In other words:

What if the real game, is bought into by money and power and wealth and influence?

Then:

What game are we playing?

This game that we can't buy out of?

*

Surely it's worth asking your self:

Are you certain that the game you buy into with your self - is the game the few are playing with money and power and wealth and influence?

If you had money and power and wealth and influence - what game would you play?

The one you could buy into or the one you could buy out of?

*

More (II)

It's convenient to cherry pick words.

Haven't we all uttered words that in black and white, look far worse than are in reality?

Words we didn't mean, like: I hate you.

Words we meant at the time, like: I hate you.

Words we immediately regretted, like: I hate you.

Words we knew were unforgivable, like: I hate you.

Words we apologized for, like: I hate you.

Indeed, we've all said such words. To our caregivers when we were denied a treat or a toy. To our partners when we were denied understanding or compassion. To our friends who told us what we didn't want to hear. To our coworkers who covered their assess by throwing ours to the wolves. To strangers who attributed wrongs to us by labels they believed we owned.

Nevertheless, though we've all uttered hateful speech of one sort or another, we're all too willing to hurl boulders from our glass houses towards all whose hateful speech is exposed to the light of black and white media (including social, entertainment, advertising, and of course, news).

Even as our own hateful speech remains hidden in the convenient fog of our we don't recall.

Do you? Do you really not recall? That you are no better nor no worse than all of us? Human. Who errs. Human. Who fumbles with dignity and virtue. Human. Who flips scripts of avarice for power into crusades of nobility. Human. Whose ego hoists self upon towering pedestal of idol worship supported by ballasts of self righteousness and self sanctimony.

As if. Some of us are better than all of us. Especially the all of us who are imperfect, struggling to make it in the real world.

It's so easy to vilify words that are cherry picked.

But it's far more satisfying to see words for what they really are.

Promises, promises, promises.

That sell realities and truths that are hardly real, much less true.

- M.