To Love A Lie

To Love A Lie

Posted by A Great Liar

World is a facade, bounded by dyed rags around a squaw, dyed rags around each one of us, some with love, some with faith and rest with pure material pursuits.

Each of us living in a lie we would rather not give up, not because we have learned to love a lie, but because we believe there is not an iota of truth to be had around us. Because the world we live in and the world we have woven for ourselves is conceived of a lie, a lie of a wife to her husband that endures a shallow marriage, a lie of a mother to her child that endures one's upbringing, a lie of a father to the son, that endures his manly pride, the lie of a preacher to the herd of faithful, to endure a living based on the promises of the supernatural.

Or lie of a drunkard, or a rich man's, each boasting of a possession he could never truly own, neither a drunkard his wine nor a rich man his treasures.

Hence, what do we truly own in this world. What is it that is real and yet beyond ‘reachable’. That had made us accustomed to living with a lie. What are those obligations, hidden from our sight, that doesn’t allow a wife to give up on a shallow marriage, or a mother to give up on her worthless child, or a father to relieve himself from the duties of a boastful son, or never allows the faithful herd to pull away from the prospects of supernatural?

To All Things Versatile

To All Things Versatile

Posted by A Great Liar

This post is about receiving the Versatile Blogger Award, and as per the rules, offering special thanks to the one who honored you with the award, passing the award to the bloggers you hold in high esteem, (or the ones you have the hots for!), and lastly, sharing seven things about yourself with utmost honesty.

So first thing first.

Dear AL, thank you so much for the award, and for being an avid reader, simply can’t express in words how much it meant to me.

Mind you guys, AL writes at Let Me Whine! (http://al-whodoesntntgiveashit.blogspot.com/), and reading her stuff will shake all the traditionalist bones in your body, if you have any that is. Do pay her a visit.

Now moving on.

And now here are the bloggers with awards, in no particular order mind you.

Darwin Land Dropouts

Darwin Land Dropouts

Posted by A Great Liar

“Have you ever wondered what it is like to fall in love with someone?” I asked her. “I mean really and truly fall in love. Not like one of those hormonal seizures called crush or something”.

“Yes.” She replied. “Though I have a serious objection to that term you used.”

“But why?” I asked. “It’s only fair to regard it in this vein. Crushes aren’t real, I mean they are so fake that they are not even fake. It’s as if they are simply not there. Just a manifestation of one’s desire to sleep with someone one physically admires. Leaves no room for any strings attached, and the only nuisance you can think of is the blood you see on your hands accusing you in the morning light to come. But of course, one can wash it all off. I mean, with a bit of effort, one can pretty much wash off just about anything from one’s life these days.”

“Well, Lev.” She said, a touch irritated. “That has always been one of your problems, you never thought of people as people, you merely think of a primitive human model and turn it into an abstraction by stripping him or her of all human emotions.”

What’s In A Name...

What’s In A Name...

Posted by A Great Liar

When you stand in front of a mirror and begun instead to see the faces you once left behind, you realize that the worst has started to happen.

People you once left behind now resurging from that deep dark hole of discarded memory bag, to remind you of the mistakes you made.

And memories, unlike even the most unpleasant things in life, have no balancing act, there is a certain purity of form about them that is rather nonchalant, lacks in compassion, and knows no forgiveness.

In short, a memory is past’s way of returning the compliment.

Because we all go through an age when we value not a person in person but instead value things that are transitory and evaporate with age; like beauty, always enjoyed in present and treated with aversion in retrospect. Perhaps it is there to remind us of Nature’s dry humouredness towards its earthlings.

My Kingdom for a Catch!

My Kingdom for a Catch!

Posted by A Great Liar

I watched her rolling the cigarette on the table in front, sneezing and puffy eyed, hoping that she would have it her way and go in the slumber she so badly needed, and leave me with the disappointments of the evening all by myself. 

Her face like a once lovely bouquet now gone dry by the prolonged intimations with the stuffed cigarette. But after having witnessed what she just did, how could I blame her for resorting to such toxic measures.

Because tonight the tranquility of any cricket lover lay in that magic cigarette. Somebody needed to put the proverbial humpty dumpty back together again, and it possibly couldn’t be one of those eleven green men in the field, each of whom now looked older beyond their years.

But I decided to interrupt her anyway. “Ammo. That stuff will do no good.”

She looked up as if from a dream. “No?”

“No.” I replied. “Definitely not. And besides it is just a cricket match.”

“Perhaps so.” She said. Paused. “But I am having it anyway.”

The Best of All Possible Worlds

The Best of All Possible Worlds

Posted by A Great Liar

 “All that mendacity!” I exclaimed. “I am so sick and tired of it. Just about everywhere you go in this god forsaken town, two things you will always encounter; people and women.”

“People and women!” She asked. “What’s the difference?”

“Well, as people they represent a form of nuisance minus the sex appeal, so they can always be avoided without any significant degree of self application. But as women, hmmmm, you might forgive most of them for their human frivolities simply because they are beautiful.” Paused. “Well, to come to think of it, you might forgive just about anyone willing to share a night or two with you.”

“A night or two you say! Since when were you a one night stander, Lev?” She looked at me, amused. “I always took you for a dreamy type, a little shy boy with a streak for poetry and heartbreaks. If I count down the number of women you almost netted, and I do mean almost, you made quiet a career out of heartbreaks.”

“That’s so nice of you to say.” I winced. “Sometimes I just wish I could shoot myself.”