There have only ever been two kinds of lies spoken. Lies, such vibrant diverse creatures. And yet there are only two types. This is an irony, I couldn't help but observe. The first kind kind is used as means to distort and manipulate perception in the great social theater. The second is used as a mask to hide the secrets in the inner sanctum of our beings. The difference between the two is subtle, it is like the difference between murdering for motive, or murdering as self defense.
I often fabricate lies of the second type. Right to privacy laws offer my best chance to protect my precious secrets without resorting to lies. Of course the staunchest critic of such laws would argue with the classic, " If you have done no ill, you have no reason to hide anything". But please understand, I do not hide to protect my mis-deeds. I hide because I don't want my most innocent and delicate thoughts to be out their in the great social circus, open for all to judge and discuss. I don't hide for shame, I hide from your judgement. Your cold cruel, caustic judgement which will lay my quirky, beautiful ideas to shame.
But years of hiding have taken it's toll, I feel so conscious, all the time so wary of expression . I interpret the mildest gesture by someone to reach out to me, as an aggressive attempt to intrude upon my solitude and seclusion. With such an obsession, I cannot show myself even to those worthy of seeing me, those who do not seek to find me for personal amusement.
I often fabricate lies of the second type. Right to privacy laws offer my best chance to protect my precious secrets without resorting to lies. Of course the staunchest critic of such laws would argue with the classic, " If you have done no ill, you have no reason to hide anything". But please understand, I do not hide to protect my mis-deeds. I hide because I don't want my most innocent and delicate thoughts to be out their in the great social circus, open for all to judge and discuss. I don't hide for shame, I hide from your judgement. Your cold cruel, caustic judgement which will lay my quirky, beautiful ideas to shame.
But years of hiding have taken it's toll, I feel so conscious, all the time so wary of expression . I interpret the mildest gesture by someone to reach out to me, as an aggressive attempt to intrude upon my solitude and seclusion. With such an obsession, I cannot show myself even to those worthy of seeing me, those who do not seek to find me for personal amusement.
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