Facebook journal — 2026-07-02

Old diary from last year. Hm.

THE TRUTH GRIEVES FOR THE LIES IT HAS MADE TRAGEDIES OF

My autopsy and my autobiography borrow from one another until one buries the other. Truth will grieve them both.”

My autobiography frowns as it reads my autopsy, it demands that Truth name the plagiarism.

I heard a lie echo in the world, and the world called it truth. So I left the world, and made truth the world.

What is the absolute truth? It’s a purifying acid which dissolves falsity and the identity which seeks it.

What is the price of truth? Everything. What would I give to give up what I have gained? Everything. What do I have left with it? Nothing at all, nothing which I would trade to replace, nothing which means anything without it.

I heard someone ask “Am I a good person? I have given charity, I have not committed crimes, and I have lived by God’s laws.” And the truth answered back: “Surely you are. You have done nothing wrong.”

And then, keeping my absolute Truth hostage in my thoughts, I heard it ask: “Haven’t you received compensation for your charity by claiming it aloud? What drove you to give charity? Was the act itself not the charity that you needed to commit it? Had no one been watching, what would you have done? Would you do it still if no one knew of it, if you could never speak of it?

“And why have you not committed crimes? For fear of law or for fear of judgment, or because fidelity to the law itself has provided you with gratitude for order? Have you wanted to commit crimes and how have you separated your own morals from the written law? Do you fear law? Do you fear judgment before adjudication? Do you fear the force component of the law itself? Are you a wolf, a sheepdog, or a sheep—or do you reject common cause with everyone under their own axioms? And what is the truthful answer of the nature of your solitude, what has caused it, if it exists, and what does it say about you?

“Do you live by your designer’s laws because you believe in him, or because his design’s mandate is known to you? What if your laws conflict with his—to whom do you defer and why? Have you made a celebration of vice or found vice itself to be its own punishment, and why? If you have turned vice away, have you not made virtue into a vice? Have you found solace in your own company, or in the confirmation of your character by the company you keep?”

The answers gave way to questions. And the answers questioned new questions to which the answers dissolved the asker.

The road to absolute Truth is unforgiving, the seeker dissolves before they arrive.

Truth holds court, prosecutes and adjudicates, it is judge, jury, and executioner, I have enjoyed the truths version of the death penalty in the form of ego death as many times as I have received it as verdict.

They say the truth is the first casualty in every conflict. They also say only the dead have seen the end of war. Then Truth has both died and been reborn to witness the war waged for it. Here is the answer to the paradox: my Truth will outlive its war. It cannot die because it was the first casualty that provoked its boundless echo—the war itself.

The truth does not warn what comes of it, yet I could not deny it to any living soul, it would not be my place to deny it, only to provision its access in a world of relativism.

Nothing lives until it sees itself, exactly as it is. I was a rock in a stream, magnetized to immobility without the truth I forced to become known to me.

The truth is pain, but, to know it, and come to terms is to know a calm that quiets peace and chaos alike, it is electric energy that buzzes in harmony when it manifests.

Would I recommend the truth? The absolute truth, the one that the world claims but never knew, the one I found, the one that lives in the space between abandon and the void: I can not say that I remember what it is to prefer soft things, or half measures, whatever survives has transformed, so to then have I. I can not promise you anything, that you will like what you hear, that you need to see it, it is merely there out of compulsion, and devotion, to the process in its own name, so that it can exist and persist.

Whatever human identity that escapes from it, will not recall how to walk back amidst the processes that are examined under it.

The Truth shines when it lives absolutely, taking without mercy, and gives nothing back, but what survives. To label it or classify it or hide it due to its cruelty or its inconvenience is to misunderstand its promise, its obligation, its very nature, and it does not exist to justify itself, it exists because justification itself, and all other things worth having, can not be known without it, as an anchor in the ocean of time and in the vastness of connections between and amongst things themselves.

When I have seen the end of it—when my time to choose at the crossing becomes me —I will have retained my fidelity to the truth throughout my mortality with a devotion that will echo in my posterity, a cause to which I am both champion and casualty.

But what is the truth about my life? The truth about me will never be written at all. The truth about the lies that were the inception of my framework, the road to the Truth that has erased my memory of that very road — these will end with me.

What happens to the lies; the systems, the half measures; and half hearted philosophies, which I will abolish on the field, do they go to hell or does design fashion a small corner of heaven for things which are destroyed summarily and without regard? I have left the warmth of everything on the road unto it. Its acidity will embrace me, the warmth of it.

When I have crossed, I will wander the halls of time and find solace in the road itself. The first lies will safely grow from the dirt that is spared of the truth I have echoed forward, wherever it goes, whenever it ends. I will end with it, or end before it, but neither will wait for the other.

That will be the last Truth availing itself of my watch.

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Facebook journal — 2026-07-02