You and I and the Truth

When someone says "there's not a lot we can do" - what I hear is "the powerful and the able are doing an awful lot

to not save us" and what I believe is that this is a weak excuse for basic, mindless, 'main characters' to lean into blaming-shifting while

evading a responsibility to be more than fantasists and nihilists and cynics.

You and I and the Truth

It is so easy to be a fantasist or nihilist or cynic, because it has always been so damn comforting to embrace fictions and delusions and the worst. After all,

when the alternative is the truth, lies are the compelling alternative.

*

Case in point: punching down.

The fantasist will tell you a story. Spun of whole cloth. Or wrapped like a precious diaphanous bow around a grain of plausible reality. A narrative that satisfies a hunger to be in on 'the secret'.

For all it takes to sell a tall-tale is a fabulist.

The nihilist will tell you a theory. Scattershot with absurd jargon. Or code-switches that wink and spit. Or thought terminating cliches that gush from pretensions of wit and wisdom. An ideology of permission.

For all it takes to sanction an annihilation is a justification.

The cynic will tell you a belief. Soaked through like a pig pickled in vinegar. Or as unrelentingly brittle as a desiccated hide. An opinion that there is no fairer judge of the truth - than a feeling.

For all it takes to see what isn't there is a false witness.

*

You see: punching down is so easy because it has always been so damn comforting to defend our unreasonable intolerance. After all,

when the alternative is standing with the punched down, the compelling alternative is not only tempting, but shameless.

*

Isn't this why we exhaust each other with 'deep conversations' and 'sweeping investigations' and 'insider revelations'?

To say

defying a call to disavow tall-tales, sanctioned annihilation, and false testimony can be honestly explained! - because fictions and delusions and the worst are so credible! - because fabulists, justifiers, and false witnesses are so appealing! - because look here -

this is plainly normal - everybody who is lead into this temptation is clearly ordinary - how everything about this blithe acceptance of obvious nonsense is understandable and thoroughly unexceptional - ?

Which is to say,

aren't 'deep conversations' and 'sweeping investigations' and 'insider revelations' the sacrosanct fuel by which we 'prove' that standing with the punched down is febrile? whereas the shameless alternative is not only vigorous but muscular and not only muscular but fearless and not only fearless but heroic - ?

*

You see: to be a fantasist or nihilist or cynic demands nothing more ingenious than a lie that is an imposter of the truth and a liar who is an imposter of confidence.

For all it takes for the powerful and the able to do an awful lot to not save us is

us, hearing fantasists and nihilists and cynics declare their victorious right to rule us all, as if basic, mindless, 'main characters' are not only our own, but our only rescue and salvation.

 

More

You paint the punched down with strokes like a brush clutched between the toes of an elephant.

Without apology.

As if this rendering of 'reality' and 'the truth' is acceptable to the alternative.

And necessary.

Because the alternative is the truth,

the answer to your prayers is not.

*

When a local bakery owner and a leader of a free country say "there's not a lot we can do" -

when an immigration attorney and an entertainer and an elected representative of the people and a corporate citizen say "there's not a lot we can do" -

when you say "there's not a lot we can do" -

do you hear yourself? 

leaning into self-censorship or blame-shifting or sugar-coating or numb distractions or self-dealing or entitlement, etc.?

*

When the sacrosanct 'fuel' by which basic, mindless, 'main characters' are 'proven' to be 'vigorous' and 'muscular' and 'heroic'

is

fiction and delusion and the worst -

and

fiction and delusion and the worst are doing an awful lot to not lift all boats -

an awful lot to prioritize fabulists, justifiers, and false witnesses as if tall-tales, sanctioned annihilation, and false testimony are precious realities -

an awful lot to not stand with the punched down -

because stories and narratives! because theories and ideologies! because beliefs and opinions! -

when will the alternative to fantasists and nihilists and cynics be you and I and the truth?

M

Breakfast

To get here -

to get to not-normal-agreement, that is,

to get here -

to get to a suffocating absence of dissent, among a group that would otherwise express variations of uniformity of minds or mindedness, that is,

to get here -

to get to indiscriminate conformity, is

not to get to universality or unity.

Breakfast

At the same time that what's real is actually material and tangible and invariable - not only is not everybody's reality 'material' and 'tangible' - not everybody's reality is 'invariable'.

Let's make believe for a minute,

so we can see what we cannot...

Brad

Brad doesn't sit at a table for breakfast. What would be the point, anyway? The counter is civilized enough for the single solitary rock that is his daily portion.

As he moves his gravel from left to right, letting it roll across his tongue, he seethes. A rock for breakfast! What kind of dream? What kind of promise? What kind of bullsh_t is this kind of prosperity?

At work, he adopts the glassy personality of a drone. Why bother being anything else? It's only a matter of time before he's 'reduced' because another another another faceless 'efficiency officer' de-prioritizes his goddamn dignity. An app calculates his productivity stats. and chirps. to advise him of evidence-based tips! to be a stand-out! Seriously. What the

f_____ck.

Donny

Donny couldn't ask for more. an embroidered linen napkin. a glittering polished knife and a glittering polished fork. a stupidly luxurious cut of filet melting onto his tongue. Such breakfast is an indescribable pleasure.

As he gazes through the brilliantly clear panes of glass that overlook a breathtaking blue beyond, he is overcome with fervid feeling. A steak for breakfast! This kind of prosperity is everything!

His smile is wide. his step is light. As he passes by drones and drones and drones en masse to their places of employment. as he passes by floors and floors. as he passes by offices. Until he is softly enveloped in the plush cocoon that is his refuge of productivity. A melodic voice chimes like a reverie. It could be his lovely assistant. or his digital aide. It would hardly matter! It always! gushes with good news! like an irrepressible geyser. Incredible.

Life!

Brad

Brad doesn't know another life. But he suspects that what he doesn't know is the secret to something more. And he's not alone. he's not alone. he's not alone.

There is something. and there. and there is more. and more. and unbelievably! miraculously! the truth! His whole life and the truth: there. Lurking at the fringes of frustration. If only he'd felt its hot breath like his own heartbeat sooner. known it earlier. because

then. he'd've been something. he'd've been something more than nothing, swallowing hope whole, because the lies told him to. he'd've been free.

and alive.

with blood dripping from his incisors.

Donny

Donny sometimes pinches himself. Not because he doesn't deserve everything. every dollar every quarter every dime every penny. No. no. no.

Donny sometimes pinches himself because nobody'd ever told him how absurdly random the plan would be. how a right instead of a left. a yes instead of a no. would write a yellow brick road into existence. for him. for him. for him.

Nobody'd ever told him how it'd feel. to obsessively mine blind corners. shadows. portents. for an axe. for him. for him. for him. because the plan

follows its own rules. keeps its own guidance. and dammit! takes! 

with no more warning than it gives. gives. gives.

If not to secure the future against every imagined specter that would hiss and cackle and erupt into nightmares writ in flames, what is any of it for? if not to see, crowned and glorious and bulletproof, that

he rises.

and grains of sand do not.

Brad

The key to transformation, as they say, is to open your eyes. break the fog. banish the sluggard scripts that shackle you to a demeaning reality that is not real. not real. not real. because the truth is something you dive into like a child on a cliff, repudiating mortality.

this is running with a pack.

this is chasing lemons with shots of vinegar and laughing.

Brad doesn't sit at a table for breakfast. He paces. Grinding a piece of gravel between his molars. At work, he cloaks a swelling appetite behind a restless smoke of coiled obscurity. Because

he is feral.

he is predatory. 

Pay attention, as the say, for snakes will strike because they are ready

weapons.

Donny

There are limits to power, wealth, influence. ha ha ha. But there are no limits to more tomorrow than yesterday. and more tomorrow. and more. 

Donny walks the labyrinth of his mind like a rose of machination will reveal its innermost secret in the wake of his resolute tread. petal by petal. heel by heel. yes. yes. yes! Though nameless foes demand his defeat like fractious animals, he is the hunter!

Donny's smile is authentic-adjacent behind spectacularly false veneers. When he is finally without ceremony, ensconced in his unapologetically hermetic sanctuary from pathetic mindless blobs provoked into ungrateful clucking,

he boils over like a simmering tantrum hitting its banal crescendo.

How dare! he spits. he splutters. How dare! he rattles with vibrating fury. How dare he be denied a thing!

Fin

Brad and Donny are not 'universal'. nor do they represent any kind of 'unity'. But in their world, they are and they do. Because their world 'exists' - not because their reality is what's real - but because their reality is what they make believe. And who's to say - make believe is not

the truth in disguise.

Epilogue

There is a rigid. hard-line. fiction about loyalty. Likewise, faith. 

That would the abandonment of rationality and reason 'be' 'rational' and 'reasonable' and 'normal'. Because this is what loyalty demands. what faith means.

Never mind the reality of the wrongness of clear-eyed repudiation of rationality and reason 'being' 'rational' and 'reasonable' and 'normal'. Never mind the insane dictatorial throughline of narratives that measure loyalty. that define faith. as absurdly as fantasies. 

Because how wrong you are willing to be should not be a measure of how loyally loyally loyal you are. Likewise, bearing false witness should not be a measure of how faithfully faithfully faithful you are.

That this is the rigid. hard-line. lunacy that justifies a terrible 'loyalty'. a dishonest 'faith'. begs the question: what is it all for? and: at what cost?

Because if it's all for the truth - then the truth cannot be the cost.

M

How to Screw Courage

Don't you absolutely treasure when people tell you their gambling with real people living real lives in the real world is a game they play to score points against real people living real lives in the real world? 

Because point scoring is as demure as game playing is as demure as brinkmanship masquerading as outrageous ploys for specious and sophistic puffery and deification?

#gamblinglife

How to Screw Courage

People pretend that selling your soul is a last act. That a first step is the only purportedly 'difficult' one. That every act after is neither here nor there. A painless slide into ease. 

*

But selling your soul is not an excising of conscience. It is a rational decision to position yourself above everyone. It is a ruthless justification that insists on positioning your interests ahead of everything. Because anything less would not be

'right'.

*

It assumes that morality is an imaginary obstruction. A costumed affectation that is 'put on' and 'set aside' like an alien-armor-suit of make-believe-invulnerability. A baptism of 'magic dust' from the props department of an amateur theater.

*

Principles, dear captain obvious, interfere and impede, do they not? Like runaway forces of nature, they wreck what is undeniably precious,

legacies of greed.

*

People pretend that selling your soul is a very smart feat of genius. That a life arcing towards the attaining and the amassing of a lot in the hands of a few is

fair. 

That this is what it means to earn, that this is what it means to be deserving of generously lined silk pockets, that this what it means to receive what you are due, 

dammit.

*

But it is not work to allocate wealth or assign power or disavow aid, to enrich the wealthy or empower the powerful or deny the beset. It is not toil. It is not labor. It is not sacrifice. It is neither blood nor sweat nor tears.

It is a calculated decision to position yourself above everyone. It is a callous justification that insists on positioning your interests ahead of everything. Because anything less, to be brutally honest, would not be

'just'.

*

It assumes that 'equality under the law' is toothless by purposeful design: 

when it is working as intended, it is pacifying fools and idiots with spit slinging and gnat swarming; when it is working as commanded, it is codifying patronage, partiality, prejudice.

*

Indeed:

as an axe, 'the law' falls on enemies and scum and parasites; as a shield, 'the law' protects the wealthy and the powerful. What a providential hymn

to live and die by.

*

People pretend that selling your soul is a show of gallant strength. 

That appeasing, that abject groveling before, that surrendering and submitting to tryhard tyrants, czars, emperors, caudillos, kings, on their terms of course, is how to be principled, how to be powerful, how to be peaceful.

*

However, when no despotic tryhard would ever in a million lifetimes stand for a cessation of literal or figurative war without demanding the exacting of retribution and spoils as an imperative condition of peaceful accord: 

this is not a triumphant illustration of bullies holding 'all the cards' gloriously proclaiming their literal or figurative armistice shall be bought and paid for with souls graciously sold to slake the unrepentantly insatiable pleasure of an opportunistic tryhard;

this is a sham of conscience, an unmitigated corruption of law and order, a perversion of alliances secured by assurances of mutualism that smugly dictates the price of nothing beyond existence itself shall be

gratefully demure spinelessness.

*

As if a 'f_ck you' to the backbone estate for not screwing their courage to the sticking place is how prayers are answered, how promises are kept, how people are saved

from self-respect.

More

When point scoring and game playing and brinkmanship masquerading as outrageous ploys for specious and sophistic puffery and deification 

is sanctioned in the name of morality policing, is excused in the name of scorn and indifference, is condoned in the name of partisan loyalty -

this does not 'cancel' the reality of real people living real lives in the real world like a scripted show in the 'nonfiction' category or 'rewrite' the reality of real people living real lives in the real world like a bestselling novel that is not 'truer than fiction'.

*

In other words, reality can neither be 'cancelled' nor 'rewritten' on the basis of

because a lie is sanctioned, because a lie is excused, because a lie is condoned.

*

Which to say, all the tools in the world can applaud being tools in the world until all the hot air in the world is used up by fabulous effort and still,

all the tools in the world will remain nothing more than tools.

That tools profess and proclaim otherwise, can neither 'cancel' nor 'rewrite'

reality itself.

*

That this strategy is the game plan of a 'party', an 'ideology', a 'system of belief', a 'policy', etc., speaks not to a trustworthy position that 'keeps it real' or 'truths' -

but to a relentlessly self-interested willingness and wherewithal to deny reality and defy the truth. For no self-respecting tryhard would ever in a million lifetimes stand for the backbone estate.

#thef_ckyouestate

M