nights
a lone cricket
________goes--
by the rush

of tall trucks
______--that
decibel

in the long dead
________grass--

House and Mine

I lied. There will be no more pictures of my roadtrip or of Hong Kong posted here. I did not want to lie. I was forced to. They put me in a bad position, and the little yellow in me got up and wobbled on its knees. I could put pictures up here. It would be easy. But I will not, preferring to stick to my lying ways. I will not back down from this responsibility of lying, I will not deny any longer and on and on that I am indeed a liar. There will be no more hedging around the lie. There will be the lie and nothing else. The lie sits ribald in the center. In the very center of my lie. It is the lie that made me lie about the pictures. I wanted to lie but the lie won't let me. I have run out of truths to tell and all there is remains. Another thing. I have run out of good lies. There will only be bad lies from here on out, lies that have obviously not been thought over, no research-driven lies, no more fanning the lies until they are bigger lies eating up the pie. There will be dirt and dung and not much more, not even shamefulness. It wasn't a choice, as I said. They told me to, they told me if I didn't I would not even have the choice. So I did. I did but now what am I? What does it mean to live within the lie, to be the lie? Is it much different? Is it like a yellowing plant that sits by my window continuing to yellow despite daily nurturing? No. It's not like that at all. It's more bumbling and I don't want you to think there is any malice in the lie. No, not that at all, it is in fact a very innocent lie, one with good intentions only, but even good intentions can be taken to extremes. Even good intentions can leave a man eating lime jell-o in the middle of the courtyard while the head of the tornado bares itself. What I am trying to say is that the intention was there, and it was good intent that placed it there, straight in the path of the lie. The lie didn't have anything to do with it. The lie was innocent in this good intent, the lie was just minding its own business. The lie would've given all it had just to be left alone, about and about. There is a point in time in our lives where we have to ask ourselves what does it mean? How does it feel to be lied to and lied to and lied to. I was lied to once. I was continually lied to. There was a lot of spit involved, and then the process started all over again, organically. It was admirable in that way. It was very deserving of some major Pats. For in this process, the process that drives the process of the lie making machine, it is built -- what I am saying is that -- it is built on this trust. It is built on trust and encouragement from your peers, a network thus established that can continually support the lie like a flange. In the end what matters is the lie, and here we have it, sitting pretty pleasing, scolded out of its ribboned shell, organically produced and delivered with clipped nails, what you see is not any ordinary person, it's a manner of speaking, a mode of carrying on, a lurching every few inches away from a truth. What I'm trying to say is that it takes much courage.