and all the people players.
It’s that thing, you know for a fact wimminz x just fucked up, you know all the details, and yet she is walking though life, updating fuckbook and tweeting her way through the days, talking about something that bears little if any resemblance to the actual factual details that you are aware of.
The “genius” of people like Shakespeare was not in seeing this, we can all see it if we look, it wasn’t even being able to separate human life into two groups, group one which we know all the details about, and group two in which we know none of the details, just the outward portrayal.
No, the genius was in making the logical connection between the two groups, BOTH groups go through life projecting a fantasy and acting our their role, the only difference between the groups is you have intimate knowledge of group one so you know the truth behind the facade, and therefore the LOGICAL assumption is that if you knew the truth behind the facade of the second group, it would be the same old humdrum tired and weary hamster wheel bullshit as the first group.
Then you go off and write plays, and everyone thinks you are writing about people they know…. instant genius. Twain, Kipling, every writer of note, they simply took the people they actually knew the backstory to, and applied it to all people.
The other mistake we all make that sets up apart from the Twain’s of this world is that we know Jill (and Jack) have their “at work” persona, which is itself subdivided into “talking to the boss” / “talking to a client” / “talking to a colleague during lunch” etc, then we have “mummy” or “daddy” persona.
Where we fuck up is in the assumption, which is based on precisely zero evidence of any kind, ever, that when person x is alone with US, suddenly they will not be showing us a persona, but the real person x.
Where we really really really fuck up is the almost religious belief that when we are alone by ourselves in a room, we are not showing ourselves a persona, but the real person.
There is a *distinct* possibility that I could be sitting in a prison cell right now, instead of on my sofa at home, serving out a sentence for a campaign of rape and abuse that never existed anywhere in reality or outside of my psycho skank ho ex’s claims.
It’s not the text in green that would have done that, it is the text in red.
I knew for a fact I was an innocent of the accusations as it was possible to be, I was a decent human being, not a monster, so naturally enough the secret is convincing the po-lice who have arrested me that I am a decent human being, and not a monster.
Luckily a man walked (because I called for one) in who was a lawyer specialising in such cases, and essentially the ONLY thing he did, but it was a huge thing, was listen to my story, ask me a few questions, and convince me that the text in red would see me sent to prison, and the only way out was to not tell any lies whatsoever, no matter how small, no matter how trivial, no matter how “white”, no matter how apparently unrelated to the stuff I had been accused of.
The police, you see, were not there to like or dislike me, they were there to interrogate me, and if they caught me in one lie, no matter how small and trivial, then everything else I said to them became suspect.
The lie that those accused of rape usually tell, I am reliably informed, is that they never had sex with their accuser… particularly if the sex was seedy or kinky or degrading.
The reasoning is simple, they know they did not rape, and the idea is so abhorrent, the idea of seeing themselves PORTRAYED as a rapist, or even a rape accused, that they will re-write history, and deny having sex with their accuser, after all, if you didn’t fuck, you can’t possibly have raped, and you know for a fact nobody was there when you did fuck, so who is gonna know?
All the word is a stage, even something as serious as a po-lice interrogation room, with you accused of rape, and everyone in that room is a player. Playing a part.
It is notable that the only truly unbreakable lifelong friendships are formed in times of adversity, where everything else of humanity, all your persona, are stripped away, there was nothing but live or die.
Bonds thus made at the lizard brain level never wear out, I don’t care if that person later becomes a mass child raping church burning traitor to his country any anything else you can shake a stick at.
What’s the difference between a truckload of babies and a truckload of marbles?
You can’t unload marbles with a pitchfork.
Every time in life I fucked up, somewhere in there there was a large component of me confusing someone’s persona with who they really were. Essentially I bought into their own religious beliefs about themselves, and held to those beliefs even when their actions spoke otherwise.
Every time in life I *really* fucked up, somewhere in there was a large component of me confusing my persona with who I really was, buying into my own religious beliefs about myself, and holding on to those beliefs even when my own actions spoke otherwise.
Take two pieces of paper, one real, one imaginary, and one pen or pencil, real.
Choose a person in your life, even yourself if you like.
On the imaginary piece of paper, write down everything you know about that person.
On the real piece of paper, write down the physical actions that that person has done, for a fact, concisely and briefly, with no extra descriptions of any kind whatsoever about why or how that came about or anything else, that all goes on the imaginary piece of paper.
Go away and have a smoke and a coffee, then come back and draw a line through everything you wrote down, that that person ever told a lie about to anyone else.
What you got left is the real person.
- On people questioning the extraordinary claims about rape (toysoldier.wordpress.com)