Stating The Obvious

Do you know when you do a really stupid thing and you’re sorry but being sorry isn’t enough and so you have to lie and connive and blame someone else? That’s a bad situation isn’t it but sometimes you’ve got no choice and no one understands that better than me. No one understands that better than me. Lying and conniving is my middle name, after all. Pretty funny middle name I know but there you go. ‘Days of sorrow, days of joy; place of sorrow, days of joy’ I mutter to myself. It’s one of my mantras. Days of sorrow, days of joy, but mainly sorrow. For the most part it is sorrow. For the most part it’s sorrow because that’s the default setting. Why is that do you think? What could the reason be. Wouldn’t it be strange if we lived in the world where the default setting was joy? How weird would that be? That isn’t the case however as we all know very well. That’s just not how things work. We engineer joy for ourselves by successfully avoiding our pain but that can’t work for ever. It’ll catch up with you sooner or later and when it does it’ll knock twenty shades of multicoloured shyte out of you, as they say. By jingo it will and that’s very unfortunate. That’s no fun for anyone. ‘Elation is nothing more than the successful repression of despair,’ says Fabricius. That is somewhat paraphrased but you get the gist. It’s not exactly rocket science after all. It’s not as if we have to solve Schrodinger’s wave equation. What’s not to get? We manage to fool ourselves that we are not feeling bad and bingo – that’s the precious elixir. That’s the precious elixir that we’re all squabbling over, fighting over, knocking shyte out of each other over. What a story, huh? What are we like? We’re a violent bunch and no mistake and it’s our habit of living on the basis of self-deception that lies at the root of it. When you base everything on lies then no good can come of it, but I’m telling you nothing that you don’t already know. I’m stating the obvious in order to play for time. It’s a kind of nervous habit of mine. I talk shyte in order to cover up my own confusion. To give myself a chance to think. I’m prone to confabulation, in other words – as you can see. Days of sorrow, days of joy – but mainly sorrow of course. Mainly sorrow. What happens when you create a sterile world and get trapped in it?’ That’s a favourite question of mine. What happens then, what happens then? Roar like a lion, squeak like a mouse; roar like a lion, squeak like a mouse. The problem is we’re all too clever for our own good. We went ahead and did the smart thing, the clever thing, and so now we want to want a clap on the back for it. We are congratulating ourselves on a full-time basis for being so smart, for being so slick. We know all the moves and so we’re bound to feel good about that – we’re smart and we know it, just like someone who is good looking and knows it! We’re smart and we know it; we’re smart and we know it. We’ve got all the bases covered, so we have. But then of course the next thing is that we don’t know what to do next – we’re kind of caught out although we won’t admit it. We’re too clever by half you see, too clever by half and so what do we do now? Don’t get me wrong – I’m not making light of all this although I know it sounds a lot like that. That’s just my way though; that’s just my way. It’s a tricky situation and there are no easy answers. I’m stating the obvious again I’m afraid. It’s all very difficult and I’ve got no answers; I’ve got no answers any more than anyone else does. ‘Some things are true whilst other things aren’t’ – that is the basis of my own personal philosophy. Some things are true whilst other things aren’t and that statement may not itself be true. How do we know, after all? It could be a true statement but equally it may not be. Who’s to say, who’s to say? Some things may be true and I’m not going to argue about that. Some things might be true but at the same time we don’t know if it’s true that they are! That’s something we’ll never know. Things are real it’s true, but is it real that they’re real?







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