Legend – The Truth or a Lie?

If you tell a big enough lie and tell it frequently enough, it will be believed.”
― Adolf Hitler

peaceloveempathy…

Weaving a tale from the strangeness of existence, I recreate my life. Memories are clouded by the tainted and faded thoughts of days gone by. I hear words describing things that aren’t me, intertwined in the fabric of my being. What’s a lie? What if I really believed the things you said, can I be held accountable for those things that you planted in my mind? I’m tired of my story, weary of telling those things which leave everyone doubting that this really happened. Just forget it and let the years begin their retelling, which, as I grow older, becomes the fodder of legends. That’s good, a legend in my own mind, but, isn’t that were it really matters? In all of us there’s a tendency to remember incorrectly those things we experienced. Ask the witnesses to a major event, you’ll find that many accounts differ and even differ significantly. That’s the logic, however, as I said, it’s what I believe about the experience that affects me. What if I changed my mind about the trauma that happened to me? If I create a lie, if I can convince myself that this never happened, that I’m not what you say, will I be normal? Should I believe a lie so the world isn’t burdened by my pain? Will I tear apart the fabric of reality, to create a more palatable me? 

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Trap – The Price of Kindness

 “The trap had a ghastly perfection” – Stephen King, The Gunslinger

 

Why would you be good to me?

Is this a game I’m missing?

What will be required of me?

I know nothing comes without a price.

Take the fee of your kindness.

Place it in your jar of pretend.

Many lies begin with a good deed.

01222012

Nature of the Beast

“I think that if the beast who sleeps in man could be held down by threats of any kind, whether of jail or retribution, then the highest emblem of humanity would be the lion tamer, not the prophet who sacrificed himself.” – Boris Pasternak 

frenchtwist

I stared into the abyss, long and hard, and became the evil. The evil, this is what draws me, so unspeakable the acts, the players, yet, so alluring. Why? I pulled my thoughts back, and not quick enough, for long writhing things, slimy with lies and deceit, slapped me down.  Lying there, head bowed and sweat stinging my eyes, I knew my visage had changed. It allowed me to crawl away, but in my soul I bear the young scars of the beast. I am tainted, bruised without recovery, and bear the purple and yellow-green signature of one bold, yet foolish enough, to stare the beast down. These scars validate me to fight in the battle of the mind. Long will be the nights, prayers for the morning vehemently spoken. Calling out a challenge, the fight came to me. Why did I challenge it? I did it for those I meet at every moon rise, those hurt and trapped. I did it to free them, to know their battle. How can I help unless I too know the ways of the beast. Ways that disappear with light, yet remain within. Ways that never forgive you for your violation of fear.  My fellow soldier, I offer you my assistance, let’s fight this evil together. Cast your lot with me, I bear the scars, I have walked in your shoes. This will end but we must persist until the rising of the moon, the rays of light will mark our path away from the edge. It is the nature of the beast to kill and maim, it is the nature of those bold in life to bear those injuries and yell, “WE WILL NOT FEAR!”

Related Post: The Fall

Nature of the Beast

“I think that if the beast who sleeps in man could be held down by threats of any kind, whether of jail or retribution, then the highest emblem of humanity would be the lion tamer, not the prophet who sacrificed himself.” – Boris Pasternak 

frenchtwist

I stared into the abyss, long and hard, and became the evil. The evil, this is what draws me, so unspeakable the acts, the players, yet, so alluring. Why? I pulled my thoughts back, and not quick enough, for long writhing things, slimy with lies and deceit, slapped me down.  Lying there, head bowed and sweat stinging my eyes, I knew my visage had changed. It allowed me to crawl away, but in my soul I bear the young scars of the beast. I am tainted, bruised without recovery, and bear the purple and yellow-green signature of one bold, yet foolish enough, to stare the beast down. These scars validate me to fight in the battle of the mind. Long will be the nights, prayers for the morning vehemently spoken. Calling out a challenge, the fight came to me. Why did I challenge it? I did it for those I meet at every moon rise, those hurt and trapped. I did it to free them, to know their battle. How can I help unless I too know the ways of the beast. Ways that disappear with light, yet remain within. Ways that never forgive you for your violation of fear.  My fellow soldier, I offer you my assistance, let’s fight this evil together. Cast your lot with me, I bear the scars, I have walked in your shoes. This will end but we must persist until the rising of the moon, the rays of light will mark our path away from the edge. It is the nature of the beast to kill and maim, it is the nature of those bold in life to bear those injuries and yell, “WE WILL NOT FEAR!”

Related Post: The Fall

Masks – Behind the facades of faces you think you know

“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.” Oscar Wilde

I take a minute, to look out from the world that is me, to see carefully maintained facades in the all the faces looking back. I understand I’m the same, different from what you perceive, disguised in my intentions. I have masks to hide the things that my mind thinks, hiding my brokenness, deceiving you, protecting me. Crafting these masks carefully in the heat of pain, shame polishing the rough edges to a delightful smile, I take cover from you my companion, or you my enemy. These facades have mistakenly become my reality, deceiving myself with this subterfuge and believing my lies, I must lay these falsehoods down, baring my soul to keep my identity. My friends, enemies, and acquaintances, “Who will lay their masks down?” I hear no reply, so let me be first. See into my soul, I’ll not hide. But, you know I’m lying, I spent to long on this mask, to tear it up just for you. I have good intentions in mind, however, most of the time, I plan on getting what I want, even if it’s under the guise of my kind smile.

Also published in Broowaha

12102010

The First Rung

“The first step, my son, which one makes in the world, is the one on which depends the rest of our days.” – Voltaire

 

 

Reaching up from this muddy pit

My hands find the first rung

I’m not letting go of it, my feet still stuck

Screaming at the top of my lungs

From this first rung on the ladder

I will not be thrown

Everything in me yelling, you can’t do it

Everyone around me laughing at my attempts

No comfort, no friends when your down this low

The first rung is all you have

Yet I climb, slapping for the next rung, I will ascend

Out of this frothing mire

I will not let go, beaten down time by time

I find myself alone, beginning again

I shake myself from my own doubt

Now I find myself afraid to succeed

What will be required of me?

No more easy carefree existence

The struggle becomes necessary to stay on the ladder.

At the bottom, swimming aimlessly in the lost masses

Who cares what you do?

As you climb out, everyone looks at you, they are encouraged by your rebellion

To climb out of their own mess, to take the challenge of living again.

This first rung, the hardest, taking the most courage to live beyond

The lies spoken to you from those in your youth, and by your lovers

Who are no longer there.

Discomfort at having to leave your habits, your friends.

Not everyone will follow you up,

Most times, no one will.

You will have to meet those who are climbing on your way up.

You see they left the mire long ago,

Every now and then glancing back to see the despair

Which they escaped so narrowly.

So I cling, to this first rung, by tenacity, hard to define

This first rung is life, this first rung is mine.

Also published in:  Broowaha

Also published in:  Life As A Human