25 Turn Into Earth
Sunday, December 1st, 2013 02:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sisyphus posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
evolutionaryWritten: 12/01/13
Title: Turn Into Earth
Words: 377
Everything falls to nothing, given the chance. Everything tends toward rot, given the choice. Continuing on, and regenerating what’s been loss--or learning to live without it and still moving on--now that… That takes an effort most people won’t display. They hold instead to the lies they tell, to themselves and others, and I’ve never understood.
Your body becomes a kind of historical document, given time. Each line and scar tell tales, and each muscle’s stiffness and bone’s lack of movement calls to experience and exertion. Each shadow in your eye speaks of the kind of depth learnt by life, and the hollows convexing concave across your visage will speak of things you won’t know that you tell.
To speak as such, it’s only this. Truth can be told by shadows. She thought it was something metaphysical and fleeting, but the truth is only ever actual, and despite all things there’s nothing of perception in the facts. Truths are utterly stable, when nothing else is.
So there’s nothing I hold as true.
Lies are easier, simpler to categorize. A lie is false, and therefore denied. So she’s right, and she’s wrong as well. It’s not that I can see the truth, but that I can tell the lies.
And you’re lying. Constantly. Imperfectly. Your body twists and cries out for me to understand, tells me of the false ideas that it’s spewing. But you keep speaking. Humming. Lying. You tell lies and your body tells me the truth I’ve never known.
You are the most truthful beneath me, body quivering and voice as soft as insects’ wings. There has been nothing I have held as true, but you inspire that belief, allow me fact and actuality to press into my perception until there is solidity underfoot, stability taking me over. Perceptions change. Ideas shift. Facts are denied. You alone have given me clarity, and god help me if you take it away.
Keep lying, then, with your voice. With your lips and tongue. I’ll coax the truth from your body in different ways, and still I am grateful--thankful--that you unroll the faded parchment of yourself to show me at all. Always, as with everyone, your body becomes a kind of historical document. And with you alone, I will take my time learning the lessons.
[25. your body becomes a kind of historical document]
Title: Turn Into Earth
Words: 377
Everything falls to nothing, given the chance. Everything tends toward rot, given the choice. Continuing on, and regenerating what’s been loss--or learning to live without it and still moving on--now that… That takes an effort most people won’t display. They hold instead to the lies they tell, to themselves and others, and I’ve never understood.
Your body becomes a kind of historical document, given time. Each line and scar tell tales, and each muscle’s stiffness and bone’s lack of movement calls to experience and exertion. Each shadow in your eye speaks of the kind of depth learnt by life, and the hollows convexing concave across your visage will speak of things you won’t know that you tell.
To speak as such, it’s only this. Truth can be told by shadows. She thought it was something metaphysical and fleeting, but the truth is only ever actual, and despite all things there’s nothing of perception in the facts. Truths are utterly stable, when nothing else is.
So there’s nothing I hold as true.
Lies are easier, simpler to categorize. A lie is false, and therefore denied. So she’s right, and she’s wrong as well. It’s not that I can see the truth, but that I can tell the lies.
And you’re lying. Constantly. Imperfectly. Your body twists and cries out for me to understand, tells me of the false ideas that it’s spewing. But you keep speaking. Humming. Lying. You tell lies and your body tells me the truth I’ve never known.
You are the most truthful beneath me, body quivering and voice as soft as insects’ wings. There has been nothing I have held as true, but you inspire that belief, allow me fact and actuality to press into my perception until there is solidity underfoot, stability taking me over. Perceptions change. Ideas shift. Facts are denied. You alone have given me clarity, and god help me if you take it away.
Keep lying, then, with your voice. With your lips and tongue. I’ll coax the truth from your body in different ways, and still I am grateful--thankful--that you unroll the faded parchment of yourself to show me at all. Always, as with everyone, your body becomes a kind of historical document. And with you alone, I will take my time learning the lessons.
[25. your body becomes a kind of historical document]
