Rhyme, Reason and Lies

Deceiver, Dissembler (Liar, liar)

One day, she woke up. The sun was not shining through her curtains and she liked it that way. Her curtains are made of thin nylon-polyester but the dark royal blue color absorbs the light well enough to render the room softly lit, as if the light bulb was blue gray.

She sat up from the left-side of the bed even if she was alone, even if it was a mere single sized one. Beside her in the bed right lay several big pillows that she barely touched. She wonders if that is how it would be like if she did sleep beside a person on a decent-sized bed? Would she stick to her side of the bed, refusing to touch that other person?

Looking down at the covers, the pillows and the myriad other things that litter her bed, she felt dismay at the clutter. Looking all over her room, the clutter on the bed is amplified by the sheer clutter of everything around her. Standing up, she simultaneously shoved her blanket behind her while putting on her indoor slippers. Of course, she had to pause in the act of wearing her slippers because it’s positioned awkwardly because her feet simply tossed them aside when she got into bed the night before.

Today marked the third week from her graduation. Summer greeted her simply with unemployment soon after the triumph of graduation had faded. Still living in the room where she lived off-campus during college, she had not the heart to leave the city where she learned to be herself.

Meet a woman who came into the city as a girl, fell in love and never left her lover. Her lover, the city, never condemned her for the new life that she decided to carve out for herself… Even if it is a life built on lies.

Your trousers are alight (Pants on fire)

She met up with her friend who just flew in from a workshop and conference that she helped out in. Already her friend was embarking on her career… That friend came home, brimming full with stories to amuse and awe–and yes, to envy.

The gears in the mind of our protagonist started grinding and churning. What story should I tell my friend? She knew that the truth was simply too boring and mundane…that she spent several days sleeping at a friend’s house, simply talking and not doing anything more, that they slept on a bed narrower than what she had in her room but never touched. She then recalled her own bed. Untidy, crowded, without rhyme or reason–much like her own life. But even more important than that, it was obviously solitary.

She thought of her bed. The pile of blankets that she used every night because of the cold kisses of her lover. The many insubstantial masses of matter called pillows that surround her each night. Unlike her lover, these pillows turn warm at her touch but get cold once more if abandoned. Then she remembers the other things which do not belong in bed like her books of insipid plots, glasses, clothes among other things. All of which are basically garbage in one form or another.

She suddenly remembered the night she sat in the living room of the house in solitude. Outside the darkness was opaque but inside, the flourescent bulb made the light just as opaque and unforgiving as the darkness beyond the walls. Unfortunately, the cold embrace of her lover can easily permeate both light and dark. That embrace silently comforted her as she cried. That was probably one month prior to the day she met with her friend for coffee. In her mind, she juxtaposed both moments side by side and saw that in some weird way, the time difference was the only difference between that moment and the one she was experiencing in a crowded coffee shop, in front of one of her closest friends and confidante.

Shoving the clouds of distraction, her eyes and ears focused once more on what her friend was saying. Then she blurted out, “I lost my virginity while you were gone!” which caused shock to ripple over her friend and herself for she never said those words before in her entire life.

From what pole or gallows shall they dangle in the night? (Hangin’ on a telephone wire)

Then she saw the envy, hope and unspeakable trust that shone from the eyes of her friend. Her audience was captured, enamored of each word that fell from her lips. While her listener drank up her words, the storyteller got drunk on the attention. Barely functioning from the buzz, she heard a tiny voice in her mind saying, “You’re telling a bare-faced lie!” But she shrugged it off because she would rather burn in hell than disappoint her captive audience….

Soon, their discussion jumped from one topic to another and she forgot to say the most important piece in her narration, “Just kidding!” Until, they left the coffee shop and went their separate ways.  Walking down the stairs, inserting the key in the lock, walking across the living room, opening her door, removing her clothes, getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth–all these actions were done woodenly, automatically.

Then she made a cozy little pocket on her bed, arranging the pillows and other things then lay softly. She stayed awake the whole night, recalling the glory of the story that she told. Then, as if angered, her lover threw a gust of cold wind into her window. She was shivered from her euphoria and was forced to face the stark truth of her lies. Then she swore then and there to do everything possible to make sure that the lies become the truth. So that among all the lies that were said, the only problem would be the time everything took place in. Comforted by the thought, she went to sleep because she had an early morning the next day.

So what’s another lie?

A letter to the World

She isn’t what you all think. She’s less than what you might think of her. In other aspects, however, she’s actually more than what you think. Simply put, she’s everything you think she is. Everything.

There are so many rumors as to her depth of character. The truth is, she doesn’t have any depth to her. She’d rather enjoy things superficially than to examine whatever might lie beneath. She enjoys the most mature of enjoyments, but she only knows that they give her pleasure and nothing else.

The world reflects who she is. It’s chaotic, beautiful, ugly, pretty, difficult and easy. She craves attention; she wants to be a superstar. At the same time, however, she runs to a corner and cries.

Every blackmailing, backstabbing, lambasting things said about her is true. Every pathetic fact, story, rumor you’ve heard are all too true. She is owning up to everything that has happened. She has nothing to hide and is not afraid to hide behind the mask of conventionality. She’s Freedom oppressed and fighting. She’s God living buried in the sins of all. She’s the devil basking in everyone’s graces. She’s the Devil Incarnate, making your life meaningful. She’s Suffering giving you a purpose to live. She’s Pleasure and Happiness making you content to simply end your life in the false belief that things couldn’t get any better than this.

She’s Destiny, leading all your lives to their inevitable ends through the mazes of the Universe. She is Chaos uniting all of your hearts in War. She is the World of Pain that you curse and cry against only to embrace it within your hearts, cherishing that irrefutable proof of life. Pleasure is she who lulls you to sleep only to be the Nightmare that turns against you. She loves all of you despite all of your secret pleasures, sufferings and sins. She accepts you for she is you and you are everything she ever wants to be. She loves you as God loves you. Without judgement and bias. She knows your heart, mind and soul.

She eats you alive. She takes in, reveling in the blood coursing down to her gut, giving her the most pleasurable feeling of contentment. She is grateful for all of that. She loves all that there is about you. She loves how you taste, smell, look, feel. She can taste you in her own tears as she cries herself to sleep. She cries for your aches and pains. She tears her skin off in the hopes that she’d be living a lie, lying to all of you lying through your teeth. She cries tears of blood at the thought of your betrayal. That which is inevitable hurts the most and yet she still loves. She can still love. She loves.

You are all the loves of her life. There is nothing in this world she hates. She hates nothing. She cannot hate; she cannot lie; she cannot breathe with all of your lies. Lies choking her, killing her, suffocating with all your lies.

Sophia Cuevas is the greatest liar of all. She lies to herself, lies to her heart, lies to her mind, lies to her soul. She doesn’t know herself. She tries to kill herself in the hopes that the End will bring her the Truth, but nothing will give her the truth. Nothing in this world will give her Satisfaction. She has gone to another place. She will go to another place. She does not belong here with those who believe her lies and those who can identify her lies. She belongs in a land of nothing. She belongs where nothing can ever survive. She cannot live in a world of oxygen, carbon, nitrogen. She needs blood, pain, laughter, tears, screams, salt, soil, love, hate, indifference, ignorance, intelligence. She needs them all, but rejects them for the lie has to live on. Everything can die just not the lie, just not the lie, just not the lie. Everything should die except for the lie. The lie that there is a God. The lie that everyone has a destiny other than what he is headed to. There are no Fates. There is no such thing as the protection of Destiny. Destiny has no role in all your lives. Destiny should not even be a word. It’s a word invented by those who are too weak to face their own lies. They call Destiny “Fate” and Fate “Inevitable”. There are no such things. Quit lying to yourselves. There is nothing in this world beyond what you have. You cannot even comprehend what you have right now, why do you persist in yearning for something that is not there? How can life be so complicated when we are made for living? Should it not come naturally? Natural is All of That Can Be Seen, Felt, Tasted, Smelled, Heard. Life is Natural. Live Naturally. Simply live.

Live for the sake of those Dead. Live for those who Died without the knowledge of his own power.

This is the Real Sophia. She is a liar. She is honest. She is you. She is Nobody. She will live for the blood still runs through her veins, but she lives not the life of one who is a citizen of the World. She is a citizen of Life. She lives to live, as is Natural and Right.

Sincerely.