Lies and the lovers who tell them.

The difference between telling a lie and being dishonest may seem clear to some, for the rest of us it is clear.  

There are few things as troubling as those assholes who believe themselves. 

Worse still are those misbegotten souls who believe we believe them.

Subterfuge and guile gave us mischief. 

Bullshit gave us dummies who are most likely confused by at least three of those words.

There is an enormous grey area between honest liars and whatever you call those insane people who claim to have never lied.

Conviction is sinister in its stupidity in the same way that lighting a fire and walking away is foolish. 

Belief and desire don’t mix well. 

Those mischievous souls know this.

Trust me.

Lies get you laid.

A few well placed exaggerations may get you the job.

Sometimes, the ends do justify the means. Trust me. . . we both know you’ll forgive me later.

We learn from a very young age, that it’s far less painful to lie and not get caught than to just admit it, seriously. . . statistically one of these options actually has a chance of success.

The respect we have for lies is predicated on the truth in the same subtle way a smack in the face is not a slap in the face, or a sunburn is decidedly different from an actual burn.

The ever witty Oscar Wilde in an essay titled Lying, the telling of beautiful untrue things, is the proper aim of Art, said it best; “it is better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission.” to which I’m sure he added “Trust Me.”

Ask the the Mulla Nasreddin who proudly proclaimed “The truth is something I have never spoken.”  to which I’m equally sure he added “believe me”.

Even the great philosopher Aristotle believed no general rule on lying was possible, because nobody who advocated lying could ever be believed. and somehow I believe that.

Lies become something far more sinister with each repetition, viscous/scary when people start believing their own bullshit.

To be clear, I do not condone dishonesty, in fact I can think of few things I dislike more than dishonest people. . . Oh . . . And cheaters.

Fuck those girls.

Having said that, I have little use for anyone who does not value the importance of a well placed bit of fiction, a subtle stretch of the facts or an artful embellishment of detail.

I will explain my meaning by telling you what a very good friend of mine once told me, explaining what he had (lovingly) said to his girlfriend the previous evening; “Baby, I lie to you because I love you.”

What truer words were ever spoken?

Where we have love we invariably have lies. These things are not mutually exclusive, any more than confessing you cheated with her sister makes you an honest man.

The gourmet meal you shared does not require you to discuss the inevitable shit that followed it.

Trust me.

There are good lies told by gentlemen and better lies told by the ladies who love them.

Just remember, they lie to you because they love you.

It is only when lies become layered like paint on old railings that our grip on reality becomes compromised.

Trust me.


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