Friday, May 2, 2008

Truth: all that and a bag of chips

I thought I'd lost truth.

So I checked under the bed. I found a suitcase, an old canvas bag, and a box of beads during my "I'm going to make all my own jewelry" phase.

Truth wasn't there.

Perhaps, instead, it was stuck in my sock drawer. Other than my 37 pairs of white socks with various degrees of wear in the heel, nothing else was found.

Truth wasn't there either.

I rummaged my kitchen cabinets, jean pockets, sofa cushions, filing cabinet, storage closet, book shelves, trunk space, attic space, open space, and in the dryer.

Truth couldn't be found.

I took out an ad, one of those scrunched spots of ink in the back page of the classifieds. I wrote about my desire for it, my need for it, my thirst for one drop. And I included my email address.

Truth didn't respond.

I attended a political rally, sat on a church pew, went to work, took a class, took a drive, took a walk, took my blood pressure, no sign of it.

Truth was gone.

So tomorrow, and the day after too, about the time the sun rises, at the moment I awaken, I'm going to find it. I'm going to hunt it down with ferocity. I'm going to sniff it out. I'm going to grab everyone I meet by the shoulders, look them in the eye, and demand it. I'm going to beat back this diluted, politically correct, impotent limping excuse for what is real, what is reality, what is honest.
I'm going to rebuke and refuse this sycophantic, boot-licking, appeasing conjecture. And I'm going to strip it all down until I find truth - naked and untainted.

And I'm not going to rest.