Tuesday, August 28, 2007

white ones

In all of this confusion being honest seems like the simplest solution. Honest to your intuition, and to people if it's convenient, otherwise, tell people what they want to hear for the sake of courtesy. The moral conditioning of guilt will subside eventually, if you still let that concept control you from time to time.

Whoever decided lying was a big no-no anyway? Is there a chapter on prevarications or falsifications having to do stealing sheep somewhere in the number one best selling book of all time?

"Mommy? How did Jesus know what year it was?"

"Children who ask questions like that go to hell dear, so why don't you shut that little face of yours and pray with me that daddy doesn't come home tonight smelling like booze and tulips."

When I was seven, like clockwork every night, my bedtime was at nine and the sheets were always ice cold. Leg portion by leg portion I'd deal with the shock and discomfort, as if I were absorbing the cold bit by bit until finally the bed was warm enough to roll around in comfortably. No matter what time of year it was I did this every night, lying there for hours sometimes due to my perpetual inability to sleep--a problem which still exists today.

One night, my father came to tuck me in as he sometimes would do if he was home early enough, and said he had a true story to tell me, of a girl who told lied to her father all the time. He said she lied so much that finally one day the devil himself came in through her window and took her away because of it, and she was never seen again. He said that was one of the horrible scary things in life, the fact that the devil would kidnap lying girls, and he didn't want me to be one of those children. "So don't lie to me, okay? Because the devil with crawl through your window," (as he pointed to my large window looking way too serious) "and take you to hell."

My father had never even taken me to a church. We were not Christians. But I was terrified of anything taking me away, especially a bright red man with bullhorns and goatfeet.

I was honest after that, for most of my life, and it payed off almost most of the time when I'd stumble home drunk from a party past my curfew, years later. My mother would ask if I'd been drinking or getting high and I'd tell her, "Both." I'd tell her I was fucked up and lucky to have gotten home and really wanted to go to bed. And what could she say? I was honest, so she'd say go to bed, and don't drive drunk anymore if I could help it, and I'd say okay and go to bed.

I remember when it started accumilating, the pain I was causing others by telling the truth. I would tell people if they asked, that I didn't like the food they gave me to eat, or that I just didn't feel like it, which worked and is surprisingly under used and replaced with lies/excuses.

Then one day my co-worker pharmacist buddy told me that I was too opinionated, and this would keep me from ever finding a decent husband. He said that men looked for wives who would agree with everything the husband said. This was the same guy who investigated my bathtub when he asked to use my bathroom on a night he was over. "Fucking filthy," he said. "How do you expect to find a husband with a bathtub like that?" That pharmacist ended up moving to Florida with his 'best friend,' Craig.

Craig was pretty, and very, very neat.


In the 8th circle and 10th Bolgia of Dante's Inferno, falsifiers and frauds are punished by stench, filth, madness, and loathsome diseases. These are counterfeiters, bearers of false witness, and liars, whose corrupting influence--on metals (alchemists), money (counterfeiters), identity (imposters), and truth (liars)--is reflected in the final pit in the realm of fraud.


1 comment:

Robert said...

The devil came to me when I was a a little girl for lying too much. He gave me a penis and an eating disorder.

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