In "The Things they Carried," Tim O'Brien liked to use lies to teach. He'd tell you about a horrible, inevitable murder of war as though to touch fingers to your neck and say, "This was real. I was there." Because the feeling that word leaves behind, true or not, teaches you the truth in the lies. The imprint of what you want to ignore, but can't. You can't because his heart sings with such terrile beauty, such langorous melencholy, that your soul reaches out as if to say, "Enough! I know! I accept!" while simultaneously whispering, "I feel you, man. Is that wrong? I'm sorry..." and then: "can I help?"
People don't like that, like that lies can touch our souls and imprint on what isn't a s upermodel, Hitler, or a cheeseburger--but even the ones who are angry about it lay at night with its soung on their chests and think, "Why, Man?" at Tim O'Brien, the author who also had no choice, who the truth still weighs on so heavily he has to give it to you or pass more of himself away, "fucking why?"
But when we learn that weight, we cannot drop it. To drop it is to scream that it is no longer an issue, and we no this is not the case. It's funny, though--I always lie awake at night thinking, "Why?"
Because I teach through lies, too.
Only the things I teach--they aren't searing my soul like Tim O'Brien's do His. You can't understand what that's like. Not unless you swallow those lies like honey you were hungry for, feel them inside your gut like a strike of a snake tooth, learn.
What's fun about this situational knowledge--this flair for teaching technically unessessary education--is something in that I know who needs to be taught it. Who will be taught it, who is willing to be taught by me. Who will learn.
So really, my heart screams to lie for truth. Tim O'Brien's called a masterwork writer, because he told the lie-truths. Then again, his lie-truths--they're about war. The Vietnam war. He knew he must fight, and fought. Guilt for a lack of reaction from the American people pummels his every word into the wisdom of a war hero, and that, if nothing else, renders him as what our labels project: a hero.
Does that mean I'm always fighting? Does that mean I have a constant enemy? With who? Who are they? Why?
Who am I fighting? What is my war?
As I first wrote this, people in Diversity glare at me as if to say, "Time for Reality, Payton."
You're lucky for your lies, O'Brien. Nobody listens to mine.
"Communism?"
I feel the lies of Tim O'Brien because they speak to me.
Do they speak to you?
People don't like that, like that lies can touch our souls and imprint on what isn't a s upermodel, Hitler, or a cheeseburger--but even the ones who are angry about it lay at night with its soung on their chests and think, "Why, Man?" at Tim O'Brien, the author who also had no choice, who the truth still weighs on so heavily he has to give it to you or pass more of himself away, "fucking why?"
But when we learn that weight, we cannot drop it. To drop it is to scream that it is no longer an issue, and we no this is not the case. It's funny, though--I always lie awake at night thinking, "Why?"
Because I teach through lies, too.
Only the things I teach--they aren't searing my soul like Tim O'Brien's do His. You can't understand what that's like. Not unless you swallow those lies like honey you were hungry for, feel them inside your gut like a strike of a snake tooth, learn.
What's fun about this situational knowledge--this flair for teaching technically unessessary education--is something in that I know who needs to be taught it. Who will be taught it, who is willing to be taught by me. Who will learn.
So really, my heart screams to lie for truth. Tim O'Brien's called a masterwork writer, because he told the lie-truths. Then again, his lie-truths--they're about war. The Vietnam war. He knew he must fight, and fought. Guilt for a lack of reaction from the American people pummels his every word into the wisdom of a war hero, and that, if nothing else, renders him as what our labels project: a hero.
Does that mean I'm always fighting? Does that mean I have a constant enemy? With who? Who are they? Why?
Who am I fighting? What is my war?
As I first wrote this, people in Diversity glare at me as if to say, "Time for Reality, Payton."
You're lucky for your lies, O'Brien. Nobody listens to mine.
Later, I asked Ms. Feutz why we went to war in Vietnam. "One word answer," I said. She looked at me blankly, like she thought I was nuts.
"Communism?"
I feel the lies of Tim O'Brien because they speak to me.
Do they speak to you?
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