The Lie Brigade

I have learned now that while those who speak about one’s miseries usually hurt, those who keep silence hurt more.

C.S. Lewis

  

The truth is a dangerous thing, especially to those who have been warned never to speak.

The truth leaves you alone. Abandoned. With only truth as your companion. Left for dead on a sidewalk. 

The lie, on the other hand, smoulders in embers stoked by the infinite jest. The joke is on you. What good did telling the truth do for you? Disrupted your entire life when you just couldn’t live with such seminal shame from the oblique obloquies piling up in droves, threatening your very survival. That is the absolute truth.

 
And yet your life as others have told it is only and always the lie. A lie no one even owns. A lie that has had a dangerous life of its own.

The lie gave the liar everything they asked for. The truth destroyed everything you worked your whole life for, obliterated all the things you’d had to overcome.

The sinister shadow re-invented as billowing storm. Soulless winds of evil swirl, released by those who could not only do what had been carried out, but stamp out any hope in the remains.

The truth was weaker than the lie. She could not get over that. All the liars were rewarded, every step of the way, while telling the truth had only given her more to overcome. And no one ever wanted to hear about that.

   
 The facts cannot be un-lived. The dark deceit can never be erased. No matter what is said in its place.

censure or blame  aimed at a person especially by numerous persons 

to discredit, disgrace, or bad repute resulting from public blame, abuse, or denunciation

  

  
 
  All you can ask is why? What made the liars lie? What did they gain by her demise?

What does it mean to live in truth? Putting it negatively is easy enough: it means not lying, not hiding, and not dissimulating.

Milan Kundera

The truth no one wanted to hear. The truth, twisted like the rope around the tree, unraveling the lie, over time.

Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored.

Aldous Huxley

Wednesday is a goth girl

“Never give up. Never let things out of your control dictate who you are.”
Unknown

The mornings are cool near the desert and life begins sluggishly because it stays up late. The to do list creeps up slowly following like a hungry dog, starved for attention, as they always are. Dogs are in fact bottomless pits for that, and perhaps that is the problem between us and dogs. There really aren’t any because we want to be needed so absolutely, so resolutely, so infinitely because it makes us feel loved and we want to be loved, salutated, abbreviated, and exonerated more than any marketing meme expert will ever be willing to annotate and tell you.

I play with words because the meaning has been knocked out of them by a fast cash paced society where we are all just moving along the moving sidewalk of life, through the airport of existence, looking out for crazy bombers to lose their nerve when faced with the absurdity of a plan that includes killing yourself for someone else, and yes, that includes you, God, and you know what, that’s why god loves me. If you understand that, then you are a Buddhist koan, answering itself just like Narcissus knew that looking inward would be the place to start.

However, the ‘fable’ warning only poets and biologists seem to ‘get’ was that if you go too deeply into the inner me, you, narcissus alone without an ‘other’ (first caveman sort of thing), you can drown. Like chimpanzees, we need OTHERS. We rely on our fellow kind, the humans and the people who look like humans, not so much the alien race pretending to be human (the guys in suits planted in certain supposedly strategic positions around the world) or the hybrid shape shifters who wreak havoc on our guardian angels (who prefer to be more like us and are known to slip up on occasion which just keeps the good-evil thing in a bit more of a fair game, because then they have to make up for it).

Some will say: I DON’T UNDERSTAND A WORD YOU ARE SAYING.
Some will think: OH THERE IS NOTHING ABOUT THIS THAT IS DELIBERATE.
Some will analyze: AND THAT IS WHY IT’S ALL JUST STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS DRIVEL WITH NO BASIS IN REAL LITERATURE.
Some will realize: THINK AGAIN.

I may always need a re-write but the way I phrase things and the words I play with are based on a long-standing study of literature in a way you probably can’t even imagine, so if you do have feedback like I CAN’T UNDERSTAND A THING YOU ARE SAYING, it would be nice to know more specifically why you ever read a thing I write and why some of those things resonate with you, even if you don’t ‘understand’ me. That’s one of the harshest things to hear–it’s actually easier for them to not agree with you or not like the way you write than to have someone you have trusted, admired and felt comfort in, albeit fleeting as every passing kindness is in these brutally distantly close times, tell you in some off-hand, dismissive way that you make no sense to them, and actually, come to think of it, never have.

That was part of the elusive heartbreak files, which only served to cause more heartbreak in the end.

I am only trying to monetize my pain so I can use it to pay for the happy ending I intend to live out for the rest of my days.

Double-edged swords

In any creative discipline, commercial success is a double-edged sword: On the one hand, it activates “the winner effect,” the well-documented psychological phenomenon wherein success breeds more success, or, as Michael Lewis put it, “commercial success makes [things easier], and it also creates pressure to be more of a commercial success”; on the other hand, it tips the scales of productivity and presence in an unfavorable direction, catalyzing the compulsion to produce yet more work in order to maintain the already-attained success and gain more, in the process withering the capacity to actually enjoy it.
http://bit.ly/WWKD_71

This is what we do to ourselves

In the end, as human beings, this is what we do. It’s madness, folly and ultimately, in undeniably sensible circles, potentially meaningless. Does the meaningless drive us mad? If one of us is crazy, aren’t we all? The fact that it is in us to completely disavow ourselves from any identifiable features (human speech, our brain being centered on other members of our species, the ability to communicate, more or less. effectively [*grunts, dog gets beer is perfectly acceptable in this case] and the connection with another human being.

That seems to be all we can hope to live for. If we are part of a vast insanity where nothing matters, and we’re all just talking to some ticker tape version of our past (click, click, click every mistake accounted for) colliding with our survival instincts of the present [how I talk to the 7-11 guy] and our mental cuing of objects and items and sounds and mirages of memories all crumpled up on our link to ourselves in a cacophony of space. This is how I feel about our ability to land on a comet and the fact that we actually did so this week.

Until next time.

Getting nervous, could be mistaken for Buddha

These extreme feelings might be quite upsetting to your rational thinking; it’s important to gain enough perspective on the current dynamics so you don’t go too far over the edge today. Staying centered is the best way you can respond to the oncoming changes.”

That was the part of my horoscope that I care to share with you today, Monday, November 10th, and no, I can’t sleep because all I have been doing lately is sleeping plenty and taking naps when I want and I can’t avoid or live in denial forever and at some point, what gives? Does the universe necessarily provide? Why do people tell you that you should think that because if you don’t then bad things will happen like all the kids finding out about Santa Claus at the same time because of bring your Parents’ Loser Friend to School because Your Parent Was Working Day.

It is clearly a cacophony around us at all times and it gets nearly impossible (or perhaps I should relinquish now, who knows what the powers that be have in store for me, really, as even the best laid plans are paved with good intentions, et cetera and so forth and I purposely misquoted that in case you were wondering and thinking to yourself that I am stupid and inane and poorly educated and that I don’t choose to ignore rules of grammar and punctuation because I actually know what they are and am conveying the drone like army of words going through one of our brains at any given moment on any given day).

The bottom line, however, is that I need work and everything has either evaporated or been the usual, typical, so over-it-bullshit and what do you do in this case when you’re not insane enough to be Van Gogh but you are as talented a dish washer, if that makes any allegorical sense to the four of you who blessedly pretend to understand me.

I hate this feeling, scroll back in time and you’ll find plenty of tales of woe, desperation, why did this happen re-tracing the steps–and none of it makes any sense. It’s not like you can flip a switch and BAM, all those troubling effects that come together as atypical maelstroms whenever you could really use a break, all those bad decisions that people hold you accountable for when they want to kick you when you’re down (but if you somehow eek by and survive, becoming a famously hedonistic rockstar, well, then they salute you–the outcome is all that matters in the end, and that is as ridiculous as they come, Thomas Pynchon comes to mind for no particular reason, and I am free associating to see how long I can keep this thought going in any structured manner and I think I have to wrap it up with a caveat, those always work, right?

The caveat is: I really don’t know exactly what to do and I want to know what to do and just do it. I am sick of trying to figure it out. I really don’t know how in a creative realm you can build on absolutely nothing, how can that be? But then again, the piece of machinery you have worked at a factory for 25 years, let’s say you’re lucky enough to be of the generation that endures the transition from factory worker to automated bot and your skill is poof, just not necessary anymore.

Or, perhaps, you’re lost in a sea of mediocrity and that’s all people actually want. They don’t want too much of anything challenging. And you’re too confusingly smart. That’s a bad thing. I wish someone had told me that was a bad thing. I wish someone had tipped me off that this was a stupid idea. That I really should have just become a high school teacher. But then I couldn’t have developed such a highly-evolved cannabis connoisseurism. Yeah, I know that’s technically not a word, but if I said it, you’d probably laugh, unless you were a complete dolt, which I am sure NONE of YOU are, but the other millions of people who don’t know who I am, probably qualify as some level of numb, vacant, oblivion of entity, where am I and what am I doing here? There is absolutely no one to talk to.

There was a time, I am told, when writers went to Paris and stayed on the property of Gertrude Stein who was an enigma, perhaps just to me, she seemed very stern, and I was more interested in Hemingway and then Baudelaire so I moved on rather quickly – she seemed bitter sometimes to me, out of reach at others. Emily Dickinson, Jane Eyre, some lonely girl on the top floor am I, but now, looking to jump.

It’s so silly to be sitting here when I could be better put to use. I have done the right things. I have certainly done the wrong things and there are plenty of people lined up to tell you what they think those things are, but many of them live by different standards anyhow so their opinion is based on values to which I do not adhere. If my humanity is expected to be removed from the situation, I will fail the test of wills and I will stand for what very little I do have that I can say has been consistent. I don’t want to use the word that defines this sentient decision-making strategy because it sounds so fucking pretentious. I am a messed up fool. I try to operate with integrity. I am constantly mindful of it. I attempt to be mindful of my humanity all my conscious waking hours. I fail at this miserably. However, I treat people with respect. Not that that would outweigh a damn thing, but the fact that it accounts for nothing is a bit of a downer.

So be it. Sharkfest among shark tank on shark week for shark lovers. I wish I had the resources to get out, whatever that means. When people say ‘out,’ unless they are in a mental institution or prison, then they are really just full of shit. A pre-born baby would also qualify if anyone ever asked them, what were you thinking? LET ME OUT. Or do we believe, like Wordsworth, that it’s more like, NO, NO, NO! I DON’T WANT TO GO OUT THERE!

I guess it depends on whose belly you’re in. If she’s a crack whore who has run out of crack, your odds are better on the outside, I would say, just making an educated guess. If, on the other hand, as soon as you are born, you get to starve in Africa, well, then perhaps, sleeping and then drifting off, bypassing the pain and suffering on earth, would be the OUT that those little souls may seek.

Whatever softness falls, so be it. I have given up my dreams, long ago, and that saddens me to no end, and yet, I press on, and I know why and I am not sure it’s enough, but the fact that there’s no alternative, if you believe in the potentiality even one bit, if there is any inkling of that bastard hope still left in the shredded beefsteak of your heart, if you can even stomach the thought of being human, well, then you go to sleep, watch your worries pile up and your happy times come fewer and farther in between.

We are on a downslide. They say. Things are changing. We have to start somewhere. Ever notice how there are a ridiculous number of takes on the post-we-are-fucked scenarios from zombies to droughts to juvenile delinquents who are way too good looking to be believable & who apparently must put their fingers on a pulse and say “he/she’s dead” at least 2x per episode, to viral pandemics and bot-run infrastructures where man is incidental, doomed, pretty much not worth saving.

Or so said Arch Angel Gabriel sitting at the bar, throwing down one last cold one before Michael came in, he knew he would be there right at 3 o’clock like he always was, before shift change. They were tired of saving us. Tired of reporting back to the Maker that Mankind was proving to be a worthy experiment. Not a waste of time and effort. Throwing good carbon after bad. Bad seed from the start.

CASE IN POINT: Who comes us with the notion of mutually assured destruction, I ask you? When I learned of that sometime in my middle to high school years (I read a lot because I did not have a boyfriend and lived in the country; most of my friends had boyfriends and did not study on Friday nights) about the policy that came about with Department of Defense wizardry – I forget the name – and I am surprised, but that is how much I have been forced to capitulate any fire I once had, any thought that I could withstand with my ferocious stamina the ubiquity of insolence, the measure of meaningless that comes with the turf.

The surf and turf. I cannot resist saying stupid shit like that. I have missed so many callings it just makes me sigh. A journalist being shot at or even better a photographer, why didn’t I ever pursue that? Because I thought of it as a hobby. I was never professional enough in my own mind or I didn’t think it was a career? Who knows? I stupidly discovered moving pictures and that’s when the photographic memory came back into play after the more pragmatic side I wish I had listened to now, but if I had, I’d be dead inside, so who knows what the right answer is, after all, until we actually die, IF THEN, because how are you supposed to convey whatever that realization might be in the time that you have to communicate in a human convention — language or some other form of show and tell. Because the time-space continuum is really what’s at play. [Can we trust the people who died and came back? Maybe that’s a whole ‘nother stage entirely and the other category is die, bam, realization of oneness with the universe that you cannot ever articulate to those you loved. Hopefully you can’t see them, like in Ghost because that would be heart-breaking on top of all this shit.]

I need a job, I have needed a job since my last one abruptly, inexplicably and capriciously just evaporated. There are no guarantees. I held out longer than I thought. 6 months so far. I was hoping for 2. I was still insane after 2. Around 3, hitting stride, feeling groove, last lap, right at the moment when damage was purged and focus was being re-built, derailment happened. Now we hope that some good can come of that to limp along for a little while longer, but the idea is really that the talent and resources be used up and appreciated and not left to squander and die because of pettiness, incompetence and ego that run rampant like a scourge, that if, I am not careful, can swallow me whole, once again.

I don’t want that. I want a job. It should not be this ridiculously stupid to hone in on the right one. The whole internet job search thing is probably the worst thing that has happened to some ‘industries’ — as there is an illusion of opportunity out there but 1) are there people on the other end? You NEVER hear back. NEVER. 2) are there even jobs? Do these big corps get tax breaks for creating jobs but that only goes so far as advertising some Producer Job at NBC-UNIVERSE-REVOLVES-AROUND-YOUR-yeah, yeah, yea… which APPARENTLY NO ONE is qualified for because I never hear of anyone ever doing that job and of course, never even got an automated response: we got your email, jackass. Why did you even apply?

Ridley Scott I wish would hire me to run his unscripted division and then I also would hope to be allowed to write. Or I sit at an avid scrolling thru crap footage making a story for you and the network loves it and people watch it and it’s amazing that way.

Prayers next.

Thanks anyone who reads this. I am sincerely in need of work, as my savings is down to naught.

Blessings.

One of these days…

I’m gonna…

and that’s all I remember of what I think is a Pink Floyd song. I am still not sure where my voter’s handbook is. I know there is something in there about a bond by the state of California. I know I care about two things, the water rules and the stop putting drug offenders in jail, it’s really not helping. As far as the people who choose to run for office, I am kind of re-thinking that whole mess. Someone called the Commander in Chief a traitor today and it made me think, well, hasn’t that always been a given. I mean, in someone’s mind, somewhere, you are betraying what they hold dear, they don’t care your motives and as we are, as a culture and collective mindset, very impatient with our outcomes and long-term effects of our short-term highs, it would be very easy to tee up the violations by anyone who is the head of an Executive Branch of any country other than maybe that place where they supposedly instituted (and enforced by martial law) a National Happiness Policy, it’s like Bali on ecstasy with a little Thai weed mixed in, everybody’s happy because their lives are relatively simple and everyone’s forgotten they’re there. Plus, if you’re not happy, you get taken out back and shot pretty quick, so the data collected on its success rate is pretty consistent. Everybody’s happy.

So, if I were 20 years younger and placed in this particular time and space, I would run for some rabble rousing office because fuck that, I’m pretty sure it needs to be shaken up. But I am not silly enough to think that an uprising would solve much, other than a brief euphoria which people seem to consume like oxygen, whether thru blood or alliance. It’s a breathable drug, this feeling that we got rid of all the bad and now everything’s gonna be alright, Reagan’s back, Kennedy didn’t get shot, George W and Bill Clinton were merged into one semi-palatable combination, cleansed of all their horrendous sides, so everyone felt a sense of hope because the economy was bulging on the back of free trade and we proved we are resilient sons of bitches when it comes to being asinine

on the global stage, then having some honor among us (as much as it’s hard to remember any time when ‘my fellow Americans’ didn’t mean people, polarized by amorphous beliefs and rickety values, who look for any opportunity to hate each other.

Meanwhile, in Arabia, swords are used to self-scarrificate young men’s body’s in recognition of a holy holiday commemorating when a male relative of Mohammed died, and judging by the photo feed, was murdered and therefore martyred. Blood spilt so easily, so purely with medieval swords over white sheaths of cloth and screaming faces. Who are these people who gather together to make themselves bleed in the name of some man who they believe was a prophet of how life should be lived—-or else?

How does any of this work, again? I would ask myself if I were at the podium, young little shit up there at the podium with all the answers. That’s the one thing that prevents me from being able to fill in the job application for world leader.  I don’t believe in absolutes or in my ability to have complete comprehension. I believe in evolving consciousness, I wish I didn’t, but it’s the only thing that makes sense in terms of living this life we are handed, given, strung up by, drawn and quartered by.

I must go vote.

Gallery

Ancient future

My world 20140705-002648-1608447.jpg

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