Story #30 - That L Word

That L Word

At a certain point, lying simply became my truth.

Saying exactly when wouldn't have meaning; from where I stand, it simply is – there's no need for dates or times, for the application of specifics to what is as general a process as one can imagine.

It started with small things, as is often the case – little things I cared nothing for and would make no difference to those who heard.

“What time is it?” They'd say.

“Four-thirty,” I'd reply, though quarter after five was the reality. They'd think my watch off or that LED clock wrong. My words had no impact on them, but slipped into me a feeling of power, of swimming upstream against a current of uniform uniqueness, a world that had me as special as those around, never letting me fall but building me up so high the ground shrouded itself in dreams of the future I was meant to have.

Lying was simple. Lying was easy. It made others happy; it made them sad. It set me apart, gave me something all my own. My lies were infantile, in the beginning, mere shadows of the truth they were meant to represent. They took what existed and tweaked it, curved it to fly across the plate of my listener such that it could never be declared foul. Just enough truth seasoned with a dash of lie and a delicacy emerged, one those around me were only too eager to consume.

These words, these twisting of the absolute were everywhere; I was merely doing my part to add to the confusion. I learned quickly just how much we believe to be true, uncluttered by politik or fear is in fact a maladaption, a rewriting of straight lines for those that lazily circle our subconscious, telling us everything will be alright.

We're conditioned to expect lies, to accept them rather than “cause a fuss”, to enshrine them as they come pouring out of the mouths of lovers, or friends, of the world as a great hulking beast. I'm simply doing my part, you see, to deliver the quota of lies you expect, the broad-based truth twisting you have come to know from everyone around you. I am truth's constant companion, its keenest student and its greatest muse.

I've learned to be more subtle. To craft lies that are masterworks in themselves, tiny stories wrapped in large maneuverings layered upon years of dedicated indoctrination. My words ring true, truer than those that would actually speak of what you desire – something I think you know with each one you accept, each one you cradle and caress in your mind's arms. You know as well as I when I speak against the grain, when I seek to lead you down the path but you go willingly, joyfully.

Is it your fault? Are you to blame for my words, for your foolish desire to listen? Hardly.

I'm the one choosing, speaking the words into the air. Your ears are simply receivers, your brain simply a space for my spoken seedlings to flourish, to take root and grow. You are the field that lies fallow, starving for the corn of truth until I come along, planting choking weeds, but you are too desperate, too starved to know the difference.

No one speaks in absolutes. Governments equivocate, commercials alliterate and people elucidate, but all without really saying anything. You're given a spread of useless verbiage, each broken syllable reassuring you that all will be well without convey just how it may be achieved, just how you will be saved from the malady that ails you.

I offer fact. Opinion. Hard evidence to support what you know you wish you would hear. I offer words of specificity, words of black and white and red that speak plainly and crash their colors 'cross the page. You never have to wonder what you get, what you take away when you speak to me. I offer, I deliver.

I am the man who runs the store down the street – the one who promises everything but can deliver nothing. I am the company you search out online - “best prices, great delivery” - I take your money and run. I am the love you lost, the one that assured you “it isn't you”.

I am a father, a mother, a brother, a son.

I am a word, an image, a sound, a choice.

Lying is not an art, as many would have you believe – a grand skill which can be perfected for the amusement of the speaker and to the chagrin of those who listen. It is a facet, fact, and faucet of the human condition, of the life we choose to lead. It is intrinsic, a value we term a vice, a virtue we make a vulture.

It defines us, separates us, moves us to new heights and I embody it, exploit it and deliver it – just as you desire.

The lie is in the truth, inherent in its words and meanings, sandwiched deeply between its crusts of faith. It gives stability to the tipped, weight to the porous, and fixation to the swung. It is more than the sum of its parts, more than the fact that gives it birth.

You will come to me, and drink deeply, taking in what I provide as the sustenance you need. Truth will cry out, “but I am here,” and you will ignore it, seeing the lie as the liberated and the twist as the tangible.

Do I say this to scare you, to cow you into accepting what you must and running from what you know you will seek? Not at all.

I speak for the words left unheard, the lies left unfurled.

I lie, and you listen.

I lie, and you like.

I lie, and you learn.

It is what I am, what I do and what you need.

What more would I need?

I am happy.

- D