Burnt sands cover the liescape stretching between truth and deceit buried deep in a person’s mind. A desert of deceit. Unhindered by any convention, yet still possessing a conscience that sometimes asks questions about morality and sensuality.
Falsehoods, like scorpions and snakes, strike swiftly in the seething sands of a liar’s mind whose mission is to deceive. The liar’s soul, burnt by dwelling in the bronzed wasteland of duplicity, is shriveled and crispy.
There are those who dwell in this sandy hell by choice. Content to wander dunes of deceit. Content to live a lie. Content to vilify. Souls that were born bone dry. For these nomads in society, I have no pity.
Essay – 246 words
While walking down a street in the Kingdom of Thailand where ex-pats from around the world land, blending seamlessly into the local 1970 economy, I met a young boy with a man’s eyes.
He was probably ten – going onto forty – with worldly knowledge far beyond his tender years. Anuia was a frail street waif with the wisdom of the local marketplace for sale. He promised the best place to stay, my drug of choice, and prostitutes with breathless beauty, if I hired him throughout my stay.
We toured a banana plantation, and a red light district called
Pattaya, with outrageous sex acts they were not even considered risqué in the day. Creedance Clearwater Revival rocked the bars with “Looking Out My Backdoor.” I smoked some of the best weed in my life, comparing it to the Vietnamese strain that made you forget your name.
We watched kick fighter’s knock each other out, only to get up afterwards and respectfully bow to one another. Anuia shared his best curse words to get quick results, and bargained over every transaction like it might be his last. He was shrewd and a survivor, with no parents or family.
The thing that impressed me the most was he was always smiling – except when he negotiated a deal. His smile seemed to defy the life he led. When my time was up, and I had to go, he shook my hand, then turned to greet another group of visitors deplaning nearby.
Let me state for the record that I haven’t written my autobiography and you’d probably be smart not to listen to me
because you continue to read this missive promising a positive evaluation of your life by simple grammatical manipulation, it’s time for exploration
What is the one thing you want people to remember you for? One glorious achievement or more? Begin your tome with tales of yore
when you sailed the seas of life and road the winds of strife, and how you were a good husband, or wife
Make sure to save space for those favorite songs that always took you to another place
Let the world know how unique you are even though you’re not famous or a movie star
another consideration is when you go on a writing spree who do you think your readership will be?
don’t forget to share your friends and family in this autobiography if you don’t want people to think your writing a hagiography
50 words –
There are wounds that we can see and others invisible to the naked eye, but both can make us cry.
Physical wounds leave tell-tale scars on the body. Physic wounds hide in the head, leaving the victim with a constant state of dread.
Faith can cure both and raise the dead