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I wish stand ups had a translation device so that when jackasses yelled out something we’d just hear “my mother didn’t love me enough!” Then we’d get to the truth, the heart of the matter, whodunit psychology. But that kernel, the one we all say we want, the one we’re all searching for; lighthouses in the fog. Are you searching for it my dear? I know I’ve been chasing this dragon for years now, catch a whisper of its tail and then lost in the struggle. Maybe there is no truth, subjective objective, any one is not there. We would like it to be. Our brains are wired for that concept to be present, corporeal almost. The logic front requires a semblance of it, the flickering candle to fuel our fire, something to sustain us and cradle us in the darkness of falseness and deceit. For our world is so full of it, a lesser sin maybe but most of life is really in that vein. Lies are all-purpose and ever present, and anyone is capable of it. We can lie as toddlers, it’s almost build into our circuits, or circuitous logic perhaps. Truth is fleeting, truth is beyond our grasp, truth is the great virtue unpracticed. Truth is…I don’t know what truth is.

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