Lies and Deception

Rot fängt Grün - Red catches Green 48,5 x 33 cm

DECEPTION

It can’t hurt if I consume

one less muffin for breakfast

tomorrow, drink my coffee black,

no sugar, no cream, then go

jogging in the sultry afternoon

heat, really uncomfortable, steam

rising off my hair. And I believe

it. One more beer this evening

and I’ll go without tomorrow, have

a beer-less day, booze-free. I swear. All right

just one last grappa to “aid digestion.”

And I believe that too. Which is good

since, as evolutionary biologists insist,

that sneaky, twisting, brutally rank

back pathway that leads you past

the village midden and place of public execution—

i.e., the road to effective deception—

is one of self-deception. Is deceit, then,  

the key to human success? Yes, if you don’t get

caught or, even better, catch yourself.  

At twelve or thirteen I convinced myself that

I was a vampire and my seventeen year old

math tutor was so entranced by my self-belief

that she threw her head back and allowed me

to gnaw on her plump throat. Soon we

believed that she might

also be a vamp and before long

were celebrating festivals

of Transylvanian folklore. Then mom

sent her home early one day when

the teeth marks had become too obvious, too

purple. I suggested, and she

rejected, turtlenecks. I realize now

that other needs were being met—

better tip-toe around that one,

we might start looking for a victim

where none was. Or am I

deceiving myself about that

too? Confusing, which is pretty much a

given, just as being alive makes us victims

of too many events, aftermaths, detox talk

downs, two, three, four in the morning

piss calls, and other anxiety attacks. President

Clinton did not have sex with that   

woman (a pause for breath, a cheer for chutzpa!) Monica Saywhatsky.

I do believe he believed himself. He is a lawyer

after all and, as we know, the legally trained mind can make 

ultra-fine distinctions out of the most blatant bullshit—

“Is a blow job sex? Nah, I don’t think so.” —it can’t help itself.   

“The Devil made me do it,” a sit-com character used to say on TV.

O Satan, thou prince of deceivers, who made you “do it?”

 

 Henry Rollins Band - Liar