Truth is like the eye of a fly - a thousand facets, each with an image entire. And we’re completely blind to what the fly bears witness. Every time my mother calls me a liar, which is every time I see her, I am deprived of my memories. Her truth is different than mine. And she thinks she knows everything.
I used to have a partner. No matter what we did, he wanted the credit. And whenever we fucked up, he wanted me to take the blame. I didn't mind. I had 50% and I could handle the blame. And I always had the upper hand, since everybody wants the credit, but nobody wants the blame. The only time I got pissed off was when he reached for the credit when the two of us were alone. Your partner should know better. The truth may be relative, but not when you’re closing out the month.
I just ran over to Italy for a wedding. It’s good to show up. I sat next to somebody I’ve known for a long time. We’re not in touch these days, because a mutual friend committed a crime of passion, a brutal murder. This crime completely destroyed an entire circle of friends. We were all left feeling that if this guy could kill the love of his life, anybody could. It also left us with nothing else to talk about, which is not to say we couldn’t talk around it. But it always hung in the air like a bad smell. It was all so sad. The poor girl. Her parents. Imagine.
And he was left, the living dead. His mother refers to it as ‘the accident’, which really bothers me. She wants to know why we don’t answer his letters. She doesn’t understand why people don’t understand. She loves her son, and that’s the only thing she knows. But her son is in jail and I hope he stays there. A guy like that can’t be trusted, and he makes it so that you can’t trust yourself.
