Do you know who you are? Are you the name you carry, the number you are assigned at birth,
the title you are bestowed at work? Are you real?
Do you know who I am? If I called your cell phone, could you caller-ID me? Can I be star-sixty-nine'd? Or would there only be several blank spots among collums where the number calling should be?
If you heard my voice, what would it sound like? Your mother, your math teacher, perhaps a salesman you've heard on TV. Perhaps it would sound like you. If I screamed the truth at you, not the overtly commercialized "there is no spoon" kind of truth you can punch up on Google or read about in overpriced books with movie tie-ins, would it only be you screaming at yourself?
Maybe my truth is nonsense. Maybe in my nonsense, there is Truth. I could tell you my truth, but it wouldn't help you. You wouldn't understand my truth anymore than I would understand yours. What is truth other than a superimposed view proclaimed to be absolute by pompous men and women?
Pick up your cell phone. Dial a random number. Any number. Seven numbers in any order or pattern you like. Count the seconds like you would count the gap between the lightning and the thunder. The first phones didn't have that beep you hear while you wait for a connection. Do you know why it was added? To bend time.
In the silence, time looses all meaning, all purpose, all form and every factor. But in those simple beeps inbetween the heartfull conversations and the endless wait you'll never know is the Truth.
Why should you count the seconds? Is there any point in counting seconds that you're skipping, any reason to put numbers you don't use into the eternal equasion that is the biological clock? What happens if the anwser to the equasion is negitive. What happens when the doomsday clock strikes ONE AM? Do you become the living dead?
Are you waiting? Waiting for god? Waiting for a sign, waiting for a soul, waiting for a chance, waiting for a moment or waiting for the waiting to stop? What happens when the waiting stops? When all the worlds clocks stand still, every drop of water frezzes and all the computers crash. When the curtain not only falls, but burns and you can not only see the used up props, the pulleys and the costumes, the actors and the makeup artists but the directors and the writers who are the men behind the curtain.
Given the choice, would you rather read the Truth or see the one who wrote it? If you knew the Truth but not the Author, could you ever trust the meaning? If you knew the Author but not the Truth, would there be any point in asking: "are you for real?"
Maybe there isn't even a choice to begin with? Do you walk the way of god? Do you walk down a road you can not see or be sure is even there? If you falter, trip or stumble, are you still walking on the same path? Would you know? Would anyone know?
Is there any point in wondering if you are good, or bad or chaotical neutral? Who's to judge or say which is which? Is an act of humility an act of humiliation in the eyes of the thrid person. Or is there absolute Truth behind morality?
Is it the year 2007? Two thousand and seven years since the supposed death of a supposed man. The bible will tell you everything a man would want to hear. The internet will tell you everything he doesn't. Maybe the Internet is the bible of our time. Are the two any different? Both have many Authors, both have been rewritten, revised, re-edited. Both exist in many versions. Is there Truth in either? Can Truth be written? Or more to the matter, can Truth be read?
There is no Truth in this document. Truth is not found online, Truth is not found in books, in audio files, in words of men or the words of god. The Truth is found in the eyes of John Doe, wringing through the ears of Jane Doe and flowing through their vains.
They don't know that they know and no one know who exactly knows. How do I know?
I don't.
Why am I writing this? Am I bored? Do I consider myself random? People ask what is random? In a world where everything is connected, I ask: What isn't random? There is no such thing as fate, only consequence but consequence is random. Action and reaction. Is this a reaction to an action? Or an action that will cause reactions? Will the telling of Lies lead to the telling of Truths? Will my Lie reflect another lie?
Perhaps the only thing worse than living in the background, breathing in the static, thinking behind the washout of a snowing television screen is not being allowed to die. By the time you read this, people will have died. If you hadn't read this, would they still have died? Would you know?
Death isn't something you should think about. Like a thick envalope stamped with Debt, you don't want it in your life. Hide it, delay it, fear it. Just don't look at it. Are you afraid of something you can't avoid? Maybe because you can't avoid it? If no one acknowledges the dead, are they really dead? Or are they waiting between velet red ribbons of stamped tape; standing in line with their Debt; credit cards and Visas, bills and cheques waiting to be logged into dusty tomes that no one reads.
People say that fighting is wrong. A bruise on someones face will tell you more about them than their entire wallet. Fighting isn't good. It isn't bad either. Describing violence as good or bad is about as meaningful as describing metal as either sweet or sour. Violence is exactly that; Violent. Prone to change, dynamic. Those who condemn it are kept safe by those who condone it and likewise are they kept safe by those who condemn it. If there are no sheeps, wouldn't the wolves start to eat each other?
Beauty. Picasso would tell you that Beauty is what's behind the glases made out of stained glass. The Truth isn't Beautifull. If it were, people would look for it. More to say, Beauty is the shadow of Truth. But Truth isn't anywhere. If you place Truth somewhere, anywhere, it will cast a shadow. That shadow will be Beautifull, even if you can't distingush it from your own.
Do you know who you are?
If you don't, you'll already have taken the first step toward finding what can not exist anywhere, seeing what can not be depicted, but only felt as primal fear can be. Finding the Truth. Your Truth.