Lies, lying, liars.
That’s what they tell you when you can’t seem to deal with being lied to. They want you to “move on” and “get past” it.
Good advice, but it’s all just pissing into the wind: it’s just going to come back to you, disgust you, and leave you no better off than you were before.
This is where I leave the rhetorical: so why does it stay, sometimes? The nagging, puling, dragging, aggravating, draining remaining whine remanding a part of you to remain?
I had a discussion with someone about the Folsom Street Fair, an event where facile language belies myriad distressing goings-on, where costumes of individual expression all look the same, where excuses are made by all for the infliction of pain, the endurance of pain, the spectacle of pain.
A whole streetfest, community and spectacle for one thing: Elective Pain.
Other cartoonish brandings (see what I did there) help to hide and variegate: slavery, ownership, pup, dom, sub, master, but they all ground out in violence: the physical violence of pain or the emotional violence of servitude.
That there may appear an election/non-compulsoriness at play (see what I did there) remains beside the point — or beside my point.
If someone elects to stay with someone who inflicts pain, enjoys inflicting it and believes the target of hand/belt/paddle/fist deep down really wants the violence done to them, shouldn’t that be the end of it, just between the two who choose to stay together?
Choice! and there’s an end.
Choose to “move on” or “get past” a breach of trust! and there’s an end.
Except that sometimes, sometimes repetition makes liars of us all: A choice repeated repeats a shallow lie and reverses a deeper truth.
The ‘sub’ human becomes subhuman. The ‘owner’ creates property out of personage.
And for me? I am a slow learner at some things. Years ago, I stopped repeating shallow lies to myself and avoided becoming the deeper liar, that one who lies to himself.
I only just realized this simple-shallow-deeper self-evident self-truth: I am the one who never wanted to be ok with hearing lies by those I care about.
I was starting down that road, but I got out by getting out and staying away. Most everyone around me seemed to abide the lies and stride on. Turns out, I hadn’t dwelled on the past because I couldn’t understand “get past” people lying to me, but rather I had real fear that I was capable of becoming ok with living amongst lies.
manhood is melted into curtsies, valor into
compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and
trim ones too. He is now as valiant as Hercules
that only tells a lie and swears it.
Would they ever say that of me? Would I ever say that of myself? I can imagine it and it’s terrifying.