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Truth

Memoir Project Rough Draft

NaNoWrimo Update: November 13, 2005
Current Word Count: 23,507 out of NaNoWriMo goal of 50,000

Writing Update: My fingers are healing well thanks to a bottle of super moisturizing cream, but I am sticking to the PC for now. I think I write higher quality first drafts on the manual machines, but this is about quantity, not quality, so I am on the PC for now to keep the word count up and my fingers healthy.



Truth

My mother has told me countless times of her ever-present and never-failing devotion to God even in her times of being lost and searching for truth. Searching for truth. Searching for truth. Searching for truth. Truth. The holy grail of philosophers and my mom and judges and lawyers and juries and the families of victims and historians and boyfriends who think their girlfriends are cheating on them but just can’t prove it but this feeling in their gut won’t let them sleep and they don’t know what to do and if they don’t get the truth soon they’re going to pull out their hair and maybe have a nervous breakdown or kill the cheating bitch even if they’re not sure she really is cheating but they know unless they catch her red-handed in someway or another, they’ll never get the whole truth and they’ll stay awake at night for the rest of their life or so it seems.

The mantra of the world: I need some fucking answers!

Well you don’t get any. There aren’t any truths. This book is true, as I remember it, as it was told to me, and I choose to filter it by my own experiences, by my context. It is true. Therefore, it is fiction. Everything is fiction. Even the truth. And the truth only matters for a short time and even if a simple truth can bring down an empire, time will grind it away eventually. But for now, pain and pleasure and peace of mind and the squelching of fear are of the essence to the big picture as true as it may be that truth really means little over time and is not possible to prove in the first place, as we walk trough life we must have answers. Or no answers, which is also an answer. And what does this truth do? It settles uncertainty. And uncertainty often brings on fear. And fear is a powerful drug. One that is not easily ignored or disobeyed. So the quest for truth is the quest for a life without fear. But to not have fear means you know what is going to happen and have control over the situation on a micro or macro scale. Whether it be control over your time, or over your destiny in the eons of ages to come when the Angel of the Lord shall return and whisk you away. Control and perfection bring on the order that eliminates fear. Order in my life eliminates the fear that I am wasting time. But I do waste time all the time. I’m a space cadet, or more like a space general. I can stare at a blank wall for hours lost in my imagination but God help you if it takes me a few seconds to get a lid for a Tupperware dish out of the cupboards. This lack of order is grounds for destruction of something, usually the good mood of my myself and my wife. And why? Because I am afraid that little glimpse of time I wasted will compound with other little orderly things that are not in place and eventually, I will lose precious time and not accomplish whatever it is I think it is I need to accomplish and therefore fail in life, which is my biggest fear, to flunk life. In fact to get a B in life. To not be stellar and crush any one who thinks they can keep up with my skills, talents, and ability to get pissed off over a fucked up Tupperware filled cabinet. I need the answer to how organize a Tupperware cabinet so I do not fail in life. I need the truth to how it should be arranged because I am afraid that this cabinet filled with plastic circles and squares and rectangles and matching shaped lids will keep me from living my life to the fullest. How dare they! My eyes ignite and beams of fire shoot from the furnace of my sockets and destroy the Tupperware cabinet and melt its contents back to the plastic goop from which they came. Or, I piss and moan like a little bitch and transfer this anger onto my wife, ruining her mood, if it was good, or making it worse if it was bad, therefore, accomplishing nothing. It makes no sense.

But the truth! What makes the truth true? Me. My philosophy. Pain. Pleasure. Fact. Fiction. Context. Psychic interpretation. Hallucinations. Archetypes. Dreams. Chemistry. Experience. And choice.

END
© 2005 Christian Cloud Abraham

Posted on November 13, 2005 in
Emotion: Subjection, Type: Creative Nonfiction