How To Be Authentic
When I said that love was the religion of fools, trapped as misguided adolescents in the time-lapse
of ageing bodies, that we all equate it with joy when the part that deceives in its euphoria
is just lust, followed fast or slow by grief in the end and that what I pined for
was the sharpened truth of logic: a new moon crescent of it and honed to a point to scythe
through the heartbleed bramble, was also the time I was at my most hopeless.
And when I said that this perpetual hunt for happiness was an antiseptic sticking plaster
that rendered people ever more stupid as the clarity of reality seeped away, until
we, you, not me, they – those grinning zombies have lost their truth (abandoned it), where sadness
can only be buried in the shallowest of graves and
happiness does not have an atomic mass
gravity is not an apple
hedonism is not happiness
that what I craved was the levelling of authenticity, was also the time I was at my most despairing.
And when I said that we pay too much attention to feelings
and not enough to cooler thought, the cold flannel of facts and the concrete of evidence
and we could be laying down science as pavements of truth and we were wasting time
on perceptions and interpretations because really, who gives a shit about what you felt happened
as opposed to what actually happened until we are lost in a maze of cognitive dissonance
rather than the comfort of the solidity of objectivity, that what I yearned for was rationality,
was also the time I was at my most emotional.
And when I said I wanted to live somewhere on the edge of a wood, fenced in by empty
fields and in the solitude of a bear and not another fucking human as far as the eye could see -
the solace of silence, the absence of the intrusion of another,
when relief would be the company of green and that any remaining voice I heard
was cloaked in the musical language of a bird, and that I’d be glad if the only being I ever
spoke to again was a tree that I, in truth, had only hallucinated was a person, that I longed
to be alone, was also the time I was at my most lonely.
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