Two faced blackmail and distorted deliveries of realities.

It pays to have the dirt.

The ugly business of depth and destruction.

The deeper the well.

The deeper the tell.

A rolling stone may gather no moss, but the deeper the lie, the deeper the smell. The smell of a rat.🐀

A chump. May be the only one telling the truth, the whole truth. Nothing but the truth. What a place to be. On the wrong side of the law AND a lie that has been going on and on and on and on and,

For so, so long. Advantaging for some. Death defying even. The end of life is never pretty, organized or motivational. Somewhere along the line, the truth stares back at us. One way or another.

You get the point.

Or.

The drift.

Or.

The gift.

Of stupidity with a dash of naïveté.

Everybody knows someone.

Everyone knows something.

Did you know? If you are a witness to a crime, and do not report it. You are just as guilty as having done it yourself. Doesn’t sound fair.

What kind of a death wish do you wish on your nemesis? Or. Your friend. Or. Yourself. It takes two to tango in the messy moss of lies and deception.

Saying one thing. Doing another. Doing the same thing over and over IS the definition of insanity. Or haven’t you heard. The treacherous definition of treason. It can be a cold, cold war out there in civilization. Turned back. NO! Do not turn your back. Ever. Really cold. Loved ones. Hated ones.

Naked. ☺️ Cold. And running around in circles trying to convince someone, anyone to hear what you’ve been trying to tell them all along. Something is going on and,

It ain’t right.

Wasn’t ever right.

Unless major changes exist on the horizon, will not be right for a long, long time.

In the meantime. The crazies take the cake. The sugar. And whatever else they need to keep their high a-goin’.

They smile to your face. Grab you in for a hug, even. While seconds later, they scoff at the mere fact you are still around. What a lousy way to live. Or die. Either way. Lousy. The pressure mounts.

Bring on social pressure and the facebookers. Tough waters to navigate. Backstabbers would, if they could, stab when they bring you in for the hug, ‘cept the crowd is watching, hopefully, they think. So. They defer the moment to make it look good. Present their academy-award winning performance of liking you, to the audience of others—and as soon as the lights go down.

Pummel you.

Ground yourself in combat. What to do when the word salad and the word jumbles take over common sense?

Punt.

Moral ambiguity takes on the faces of evil. A civil war, of sorts.

The remainder of the battle remains to be seen.

Stay grounded in the facts. Reminder: The way others behave says more about them than it does about you. Even if your whispers turn to screams, turn to ballistic loaded “references” and sadly, the rest and others turn and look the other way.

It’s ok.

The truth remains. Out there.

At the end of the day, it matters not if you are believed.

If you believe. All will be ok. Call it self-self defense.🫨

Times are confusing. He said. She said. Then. He said. Again. Or He forgot what she said. Round and round it goes. Again. Morphing faces insidiously morph into quite a state of affairs of intruders.

Sometimes. Extra information can cause trouble. In the wrong hands, of course. Coming out of the shell takes time.

It takes your time.

It takes my time.

Setbacks. Kickbacks. Drawbacks. And stabs in the back.All apart of the distorted deliveries of realities. Kinda sucks. I know.

Sometimes. For a lifetime.

Don’t force it.

Emotions can be contagious.

Building a repaired repoire takes time, too.

Hopefully, not a lifetime.

But. If it does. So be it.

Coping takes its toll. Homesickness is a real thing.

Sometimes. At the end of the day, the only thing left to do is thank God you made it to the end of the day. In one piece…..or as close to one piece as possible. With a semblance of morals in tact and ready to face the day—tomorrow.

The problemo? The two-faced happenstance is getting ready for their two step happy dance tomorrow. On your dollar or dime. At this point in time does not make much of a difference until the check comes due.

The two faces may come back willy nilly tomorrow. The more things change the more they stay the same. After the shots are taken and fired and the last of the Mohicans have left the field of dreams with their bows and arrow sharpened for the next round.

All of the sudden.For no reason. People vanish. New ones appear—wives, husbands, partners, step-this and step-that are just itching to take your place. Belligerents stand ready to take your place on the field in exchange for your life.

Seven years. Ten years. Twenty five years. Fifty years. One hundred years. Two hundred years. Two hundred and fifty years. Wars of Fantastic length can all be compared. With success being measured on how well they fought.

Mostly. Who was present.

In the trenches.

During the most precarious of moments of depth and deception.

Digging deeper and deeper as to the whys of the how we got to where we are. Perhaps that is why familiarity breeds confidence. Then again. So does history and repetition.

History repeats itself.

Like a forgotten child awaiting to be heard.

An older folk just waiting to be noticed again.

We wait.

We wander.

We wonder.

Will it, will I, ever feel the same again.

And if so. Will it feel the same way it did then.

Will I look into the eyes of the two faced seeker and understand what lies behind the eyes is a whole lot of unmeasured potential of happiness and light.

Restored to the status quo.

Restored to the same old same old.

Restored to a place of mend.

Unaware, The neglect was the flimsy foundation of how we got to the here and now. Chasing the way it was in a desperate attempt to change the way it will be. The final state of being, being improved beyond measurable measure.