I remember going to confession when I was young, I imagine I had the same problem I do right now. For me, confession occurs when my hands are red. Never are they spurred from a guilty need to right wrongs. In a sense…no, in plain truth I am the epitome of the person who thinks it’s only wrong if you get caught. My friends, I have a confession to make…
I am a liar.
When I think about what would define Cheese’s Seven Circles of Hell, I must say, I have a special place for the liars. Liars are a disgusting people…well they aren’t even people; they are rats…no…roaches. Liars are vile, repulsive and they make me sick. When I think about liars, I think about people who are too worthless to live. There are some people who don’t deserve to breathe…I am one…I am a liar.
It started with the Sega Genesis I never really did have. I was so cool…no one else had a Sega Genesis, shit they had hit the stores the night before. No one was smart enough to doubt me and no one was ballsy enough to call me on my blatant lie. From a young age I knew that I was more devious than most…it was to my advantage. It is a bad habit borne out of arrogance, the inherent belief that I am better than everyone. This belief is the most putrid part of my personality, and the really sickening part is that I totally believe it. Think about it as you read this, right now I am sitting facing my unmade bed, dirty (mostly cum filled) laundry surrounds me, I am drinking a black and tan and smoking a joint.
Take that all in.
I still think I’m better than you.
Don’t you just want to slap me? Oh, trust me, I want to kick my own ass too, and the truth is that I really hate this about myself. For some unknown reason I have an unquenchable thirst to be fucking way better than you. I think I am better than everyone, even while I drink on an empty stomach. Who am I kidding? Honestly I blame you, reader. It is your job to tell me that I am an arrogant sloth. I need someone who will knock me down a peg and say to me, “hey douche, shut the fuck up.”
Really though I do need someone to tell me to shut the fuck up now and again. I need to be brought down off of my self-righteous cloud of “I’m better than youness.” You know it, I know it…I am no better than you nor am I any better than the homeless guy with a sign that says, “Why lie, need a beer.” But here we are, back to the beginning because I seem to think I am better than everyone, when the truth is that I am less than or equal to the rest of humanity.
This doesn’t change the fact that I still feel the need to be something special, aka better than you. Ah, so we are even further back to the beginning now. Herein lies the reason I…uh, well…lie. It’s the same as the One Hour Life Story Game, except it is much more serious and totally real. Lie to make yourself more interesting than your friends. That, my friends, is the object of my game.
That’s pretty disgusting. I have been drinking while writing the duration of this post and to this exact point I have not read what is above. The beauty of drinking and writing is that you forget what you were writing, you completely forget the point you were trying to make. I, however, cannot drink enough to forget the point I am stumbling around making. The point I’m (probably not) making is that I violated someone’s trust.
Took me 649 words to say that. True testament of a liar. They fucking talk way too much. Henceforth do not believe a word I say, consider every statement I make and assume I am lying. In fact everything I have ever told you is a lie. Every single word you should consider a lie. No wait, that’s a lie. Actually, that is a lie. But what if I’m lying to you about this, what if only some of what I’ve written is lies and some is not? How will you ever know? You have no idea, do you? It’s all lies, my friend. It’s all true, my friend. Whose word are you going to take? Whose side are you on? What is fact? What is fiction?
What am I talking about?
I have this stupid ass story. My dad is from
I have this strange desire to lie to people about trivial things in order to make them think that I am something (cool) that I am not.
In twenty four (I’m actually thirty four………kidding) years of my life I have never put this into writing or even into clear thought. This is the most vile aspect of my personality, the bad side that far outweighs the good in me. I started writing this blog in order to come to terms with the fake life I was living. Here is where I have admitted my secrets and here is where I escaped the fantasy world I had created. But here is also where I met someone that I fell in love with, and you can throw up from my gayness but you can also kiss my ass…I love this woman. I fucking mean it, I love her. I lied to her. I’m still using more words than necessary. It should take a sentence.
I lied. I said that my father was from
I realize that this throws everything you have read into question and frankly I could not give a fuck less. The reason this appears here, in public is to prove to myself that this is a space to confess. Always has been and it always will be, regardless of audience. I’m not going to explain myself to you, frankly because I don’t have to.
This is a diary of truth, penned by a liar. Everything you read must be questioned. Take everything with a grain of salt. Is he lying? Is he telling the truth? I’ll tell you truthfully that the paternal heritage lie is the only lie you have ever heard from me, but it is your choice whether to believe me or not.
Is he lying? Is he telling the truth?
This is a diary of truth, penned by a liar, it’s your choice to believe or not…I don’t care.