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

The numbers are down 

Maybe we’re sick of stuff. It seems to give very little real meaning to our lives. Maybe we’re done with the buying, the procuring & the profiting, which necessitates some inevitably unbalanced transaction where he who possesses the sanctioned means of expanding blank value (printing numbers on paper, then charging people to print more! Brilliant! And everyone will think they need this papered money with numbers on it!) 
And so the farmers who feed and the builders who bring the water we need all become slaves to the transaction.
And now we’re all just tired of the buying.

Where’s the making and the giving and the sharing and the being among not despite. 

These are the end of days. Avoidance has beget ignorance has bred selfishness and lack of consciousness. We peaked somewhere and now there’s a cacophony of arguments for postulates of science over sentience and holograms the speed of light, refracting sight.

We sense it. Why can we not live up to our absolutes? Why do we always and indifferently pass through time with no real possibility for life but only its shadow, where anything true gets trampled by the group selection of the hive. You live and love, afraid that you have made some grave mistake.

And then, due to circumstances so far out of your control, they feel adversarial, directed, not impersonal, but guided missiles headed straight for your heart and mind. 
The only defense is the wall around the heart. You cannot feel the way others seem to – because they don’t mean a thing they say, it’s all for show and what is not, a cat-and-mouse play she’d grown weary of being drafted into by her nature and her being, the things she could not see to harness, neithet change nor overcome. The inate. The true. The best of you made worst, a thing you can never explain, even to those you desperately want to, even to those who’ve done the most anyone ever could, for a lost girl, wandering the wilderness of western slopes, the fore and aft, in the north the bear, the east, a shining light. The south was quiet. The rattle and hum, stratospheric din, enter inertia, your surrogate muse for the day.

Pet heists, the ones who got away, stolen & in captivity. She admired those who could focus. All the static droned on until the only thing left was packaged reverie on loop, the fluorescent buzzing of Doctor weight in every room you survived. 


 The motel of ideas 

The television of life  

I know people are sick of being shot at and running for their lives – all over the world – yet we cannot unite. 

We are, as the ‘non-set-for-life’ members of the generic populace (meaning not the 1% but the working stiff, the one struggling, sacrificing, overcoming much more than to those who have been placed at the helm.

Yet everywhere you look, when you really look, dissent is in the air. People are fed up. Can they overpower any free juxtaposition of ideas? They already have. 
With all due respect and undue cause and effect, sir, your honor, members of the jury, father who art thou in heaven as it is on earth, professor, genius investor, the man of riches, the holy man in gold, on his parade of death, where borders get wrecked two-fold, and nothing now can ever be holy again. 

Professor, someone pays you to complain so you can eat in the cafeteria of academic institutions. Some evil Carnegie Mellon Rockefellar blood money funded that McArther Genius award, thwarting all your hopes and dreams of truly deserving the most acrimonious horses ass of critical thought in our known universe. You imprison our minds just like the tides she waves of those below belie an unmistakable threat to the soul and her heart, forget about it. She had to reign that in, go dark, lick her wounds, steel Herself, as always and once again. That was the only way she could get through life. Why had he come along and be so insistent they she feel something?
Because she knew if she did, it would be her last time being able to give the way she had to – and they had seen to it that she would never be allowed to – somehow she was more valuable being tainted with the promise then denied to the point of numbness.

An experiment? Perhaps. But why? The data, just like her, was wrecked. She just wanted to be gone.

  She just wanted to not be here, there was nothing for her and it Did not matter anyway so why was she supposed to trudge on, suffering, not knowing who to invest her energy in-ever. It was never right. She was always wrong, there was no escaping that realization, only ending its meaningless repetitive drone of pain from being broken hearted.

I know not

How to be 

And so 

What to be 

Who I am supposed to be

And why am I even here 

Cannot be resolved 

Because I know not 





You know it is never right. You know I am always outside happiness. The deceit they said changes you on a cellular level. I guess it’s more the way the world is.

Now finally all delusions were dead.

E Flat Major 

Eulogy for my beliefs 

That you would ever be


So tired of being rushed

Being pushed

Being told 

How it really is

As if

I don’t know

As if my opinion 

Could not be the truth

Because they have not thought of it

And this is how the suppressing goes. The ideas die. The guns come out over bodies and birthright and is no one sane?


Go away

The point of argument no longer matters it’s your need to be right

a catalyst, an instigator, you are not really worth their time actually these superior intellects and holders of moral high ground

Self-righteous resentment attempts to silence you, a benign censorship where hypocrisy covers its tracks
And you are always right

About what?

Alterable travails 

What if everything was true but no one would listen to you 

Ahead of your time 

Always running late 

Ship sailed in 

But you were waiting in vain 
On some dim seduction 

a promise 

never not yet 



How to sleep through time let them catch up do you see what I see? 

When we were on fire 

There was nothing we couldn’t take on, the tragedy of the commons, the crushing bias of generations squeezing our last gasp at something no one has time for now, we were fearless, we were ablaze with combined defiance of all who wronged the kind-hearted, frail and defenseless. 

Then, we got beaten down, became frail and defenseless ourselves.