Abraxas...

I’m sitting in the chair, writhing in agony. A demon, a minor demon, is pinning me there, fucking with my head. Abraxas, he says, I’m Abraxas, the demon of lies and deceit.

‘So, what do you want to know about lies, my dear?’

I’m not a liar. I try again to get up – this time I’m flayed, splayed; I feel myself screaming.

‘I’ll tell you about lies. There are white lies, and black lies, and many shades of grey lies. And some lies are justified. Lies told out of kindness, lies that preserve dignity… Lies that spare pain…Everybody’s a lie, dear. Look at that one – she’s about to tell her lover something patently untrue. Look at their gestures. See how they touch each other too intimately. How they avert their eyes, cover their mouths, they lick their teeth, and hold their chins. They embellish their stories with far too much detail…’

i'm abraxas. i didn't write this, i won't pretend i did. but it seems to me that jenny is right. episode four, season one... i do lie to people. i lie to myself. i'm lying to myself even now; i've lied my entire life. but the truth is even harder to root out than the lies in which we shroud it.

i'm running scared. i justify to myself my behaviour; i label it, i analyse it, and in every case it seems that i am wrong. to define love. how does a being define the indefinite. indefinite, infinite, definitive and brief. i feel in ways i've not felt before. i told myself i was justified by loving somebody. he won't tell me. i say it to myself, in the shadows, i love you... and yet, futility is all i find there to keep my company. he lists my attributes - amazing, special, intelligent, beautiful, unique.

unloved.

poor abraxas, i share your fate.

we lie, we disillusion, we deceive. and in the end, we deceive ourselves. feelings; like, lust, love, truth, lies. in our perserverence, do we also develop our capacity to feel pain?

the truth is futile.