…I kept thinking about something, well two things actually : truth and lies. They make up so much of what we are don’t they? I see myself as a very honest person, but there are things that I have kept close to my chest, and circumstances where I felt honesty was not the best policy. Does this make me then partly a liar? Perhaps I’m not as honest as I have led myself to believe. I’m too much aware of what others may think of me. I see this in myself as much as I see it in others around me, and hate it, and yet it’s hard to truly do anything about it. How we are seen is so important to us (me) because, maybe, not being seen is such an unbearable thought. To be invisible, to not have importance. What are we without approval? But truth is sometimes a fearful frontier, fear of being judged, and masks are so easily constructed. I’ve lied in my lifetime more than once and how surprisingly fluid they fell from my mouth. I imagine what it would be like to be a compulsive liar, where my escapism knows no bounds. To be in the world but not be in it at all. To believe myself and nobody else. An architect of tall-tales! And then I imagine the opposite, if my honesty had no censor and my thoughts were as carefree as wind or rain. To bark like a dog as I was buying milk, to touch the shining hair of some lady passing me, to touch myself in public because I was horny. To be in the world and truly be in it! Existing in a permanent state of honesty. I think that perhaps we could all be either of these people, but luckily (or unluckily) we just about manage to keep ourselves finely balanced in between. It’s what separates us from animals isn’t it? Isn’t it?
I’m slightly nervous now, I’m nervous that I’m being judged.
/Khamlane
RIBBING / HALSACKDA 
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