Truth Is Hard, Lies Are Easy

He does it, you know, because he can, and I know for what I speak.

Living with Tim those 4 years, it did take a bit to catch on to his fictions, and, in the end, his lies proved powerless, of no value, as he lay dying of cancer. Never would have wished it on anyone, and I couldn’t leave him at such a time, and certainly, by then they had no bite. Figured, lie all you want, bucko, I know where you’ll be in a year.

And where I won’t be.

Well, not exactly where where, but most certainly not with him.

Oh, he did anyway, can’t keep a bad man down, lied to the doc to get her to switch his pain meds, so he could sell them, then lied again to get her to switch back when he was going to run out of the stuff that actually worked. I always wondered why on earth she let him get away with it, but she did.

Eventually, as life became more and more isolating, he clung to me, gave me a power over him he would never have endured otherwise. I gave him some level of dignity, I suppose, far better than dying in some hospice alone.

Often wondered what good deeds he’d done to deserve me. But anywho.

The great rumpus down southus, I know why he lies, for the same reason, because he can, because he got away with it, because I let him, because everyone let him. He puts up such a ruckus when he’s called out, some, I included, really question our own version of this truth we had been so sure of, and some just buy it straight out, no question, he’s their prez, and as such he must be telling the truth. That’s just easier.

In his own mind, he is this THING, and these are his achievements, manufactured though they are. These are the proofs of his greatness, even though they never happened. These are the things I can not do, even though he very well could, just to confuse the narrative or shortening days, and just saying…oops…bad me, I was just joking, or brazenly just flat out deny he ever said such a ridiculous thing.

Naive? Maybe, but they WANT to believe the lie. He wants to believe the lie too, saves him the trouble of facing the consequences of his actions. Easy. Just lie.

Same with Tim. Covering his tracks was why he lied, totally why. And one just so easily slid into the next, and soon he believed the lie himself and would defend it loudly, to a point where I questioned myself, I liked where I was, I didn’t want to see, hear, whatever it was. Calling me nuts to think otherwise, or weak, or just making stuff up.

After a bit it gets so exhausting you just let him be, who can fight that every single fricken day? You’re caught in your own needs, you’re caught by your fear of what will happen if your own eyes, ears are right. Isn’t it just easier to believe the lie? Just go along, why does it matter? Long as you don’t feel the sting, and even if you do, he’s got another lie up his sleeve, rest assured.

And look at the perks? Don’t get these perks from the pesky career politicians and professional journalists, much better, muchos more soothing than the harpies calling for the end of times out there in the politically correct universe, as the cancer sucks away at the soul and spirit of democracy. Lies spread the cancer, like sugar, every day growing bigger, sucking in those juicy sugary drinks, not accepting the truth, or maybe not caring about it, so much easier to just suck back that kool-aid like beverage.

It grips you, it grabs you, the lies, as they rolled off his forked tongue, some to the left, some to the right, ensuring such division from the other as to ensure you have no one to bounce your, maybe, rather pathetic theories off, thoughts, instincts banging on the door wanting in, but that means you’ll have to work for it, you’ll have to compromise, you’ll have to care and do something about it rather than just give it some lip service on sunday, with your priveledge and white skin.

Another interesting parallel is their shared interest in dictators, or in Tim’s case biker gangs.

He really thought those guys were fantastic, had a great deal of respect for them, always wanted to be somehow associated with them, to maybe catch some of the glow from their perceived greatness.

Sure, a scary kind of greatness, but he glossed over all that, as it demonstrated the power of the heavy hand they used to squash even the smallest bug, the slightest disloyalty, and I think he truly yearned for that, and so he created these fabrications, these fictions even, to connect him, even if briefly, and subordinate to them in his own poor sense of self was his way of paying homage. It compensated for his, well in Tim’s case his stature, in the rumpus from down yonder? Em, maybe compensates for his lack of intelligence, or perhaps a lack of understanding of maybe real human emotion. It’s a cover.

Do you know what that is? That’s narcissism. Classic. Truth be told, a rather classic trait of many famous leaders of history, actually, well, least the dictatorial and lacking in any faith sort of ones, or using said faith as a weapon, with wealth concentrated on the few, friends and cohorts, and the many are left with the crumbs, and thankful for such thoughtfulness as those fine crumbs, praising their dear leader for fear of poking the bear they know lives underneath the combover.

He would lash out at anything that got in his way of getting what he wanted, he’d lie his way through, the confidence in his lie giving the lie itself a clarity and truthiness that looked for all the world like the real thing, or what you hoped was the real thing. You could never really tell, sometimes. Sometimes, presented it to you as though the centre part wasn’t all fake newspaper, wrapped in a package of truth. As if the substance contained was as real as the cover.

And, he hung out with only the best, like duh, because he WAS the best, and they loved his fearless weirdness, his carefree lifestyle, his penchant to speak his mind, regardless of its contents, the delivery was always what they came for. His lies wrapped him up in this enigma, this fiction that almost looked like the real thing, so maybe, a benefit of the doubt, like lipstick and rouge on a pig, is that ultimately it doesn’t really matter.

And, anyway, how can someone lie like that and not get all caught up in their own chaotic web of lies, so he must be either a genius level liar, or he’s telling the truth, right? Sounds reasonable.

Thing is, Tim was just some nobody, the backdoor guy to a bunch of ageing musicians, running the milk route still. But that rumpus, he has the grip of the nation, he has the Senate by the gonads, and Congress by their short and curlies, and the GOP dances and claps at the clever man, whilst secretly talking crap behind his back, knowing their bowing and scraping will pay dividends for them, if not to those for which they are supposed to be serving, but details details.

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