The world runs on the concept of truth. That we believe what people say. We invest in the words that come out of people’s mouths. Governments around the world twisting the truth for their own political gain, brought into power on other untruths whilst the general public look on with their mouths agape. Oh no they did it again. I can’t believe it. Brexit, the great untruth in the UK, a country taken on a ride by arch villains Johnson and Cummings with the support of other despotic individuals and countries. You are told by lying parents to tell the truth. It’s a great aim but one that falls apart quite easily. Small white lies you tell friends so that they are not offended by something. The world of marketing lives in a lying state. Some people are naturally truthful. TV show The Traitors features people blindly telling fibs to fellow humans who have supposedly, instantly become their best friends of all time ever. Only for this lack of truth to come out and their shocked expressions gradually dawn to the realisation that they are on a reality show called The Traitors. It should be the name for all politicians, holding yet another photo opportunity in front of the flag. Boldly lying where someone else has gone before. Selling their country down the river to the highest bidder, not really caring about much other than to line the pockets of themselves and friends. UK politician Jeremy Corbyn told the truth. He couldn’t help himself. No politicking around. Straight out truthfulness which made him a threat for those in power. Football managers lambasting their team after a shocking display, gradually the players will stop performing for him or her. Inside the dressing room the right amount of truth can be told, to motivate and provide direction. Neurodiversity often presents in extreme levels of truth telling. Not being able to cover up the truth. The whole truth, nothing but the truth. We lie to our children, tell them things will get better. The world won’t be destroyed in an almighty fireball due to the carelessness of previous generations, or a nation voting for arch villain Donald Trump. That things will get better. As a musician I prefer it when someone tells me straight out what they think of a performance or a song I have made. Usually it is a family member, outright frank about it. Whatever the situation. My biggest critics. Actually, couldn’t they be a little less upfront with the truth. To develop you need the truth. Record companies telling you exactly what they think, nuanced feedback. Feed forward. Propel you towards improvement, hopefully. You need a thick skin to hear the truth. About you, your personality. God you talk too much. You just seem to always be discussing yourself. Narcissistic. My youngest daughter always tells the truth. God dad, you look old. Thanks there. Hairdressers telling clients how wonderful their new style is. Donald look in the mirror. Outfits that are perceived to flatter. Living in a truthful space, knowing who you are, understanding the self takes strength but is a positive position to exist within.
It is so tiring chasing the truth, unpacking messages from politicians so that actual real information doesn’t have to just drip through social media channels. Truth should be up front and central. We have to tell the truth in our lives. I can’t go into work and start making things up because it suits the position I would like to take. There should be a truth monitor standing beside any political leader when they are talking, interrupting each time lies flow from their mouth. Trump’s speech would be very staccato. Hold people to account, be real, be human. BBC verify is all very well, but it occurs after the fact (checker). We need instant buzzers that sound whenever an untruth is made, although the cacophony would make life difficult to live. Donald Trump, that doyen of truth, announced that there will be no wars now he’s in power. King Canute. King c**t. No Ukraine, Gaza, Syria, Afghanistan. Tell the truth. Challenge the guy, ask him how this is going to happen because we all follow the sentiment but no one else has managed to achieve this. He must have superpowers. Or snorted too much coke. Narrowly missing having his head blown off, a shot grazing his ear so that diehard supporters can copy his Van Gogh left ear plastered image. A cult in charge of one of the most powerful countries in the world. Plus ça change.
The contrast between US presidential candidates Kamala Harris and Trump is quite staggering. On one side there is love, compassion, fun, normality, enjoyment, balance and plain speaking. On the other, lies, deceit, nonsense, chaos and confusion, bizarre behaviour that screams anger. Angry that he can’t be this good person. Angry with himself and the world. Retreating into his bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror and venting. The world’s gone orange, a colour of life and peace. There is great fear of everything around him. Insecurity. Is there a way that someone like Trump can return to normality, be saved from a life of lies, unhappiness manifest in being Mr Angry. Maybe Trump needs some time away from the disunited States, a cultural trip to Europe, France perhaps. Sitting in a café, wearing a beret, smoking Gitanes and pontificating about the latest conceptual art piece. Paris, the city of lights and love. Reach out Donald, don’t hide behind your fracking wall. Maybe it could save him. Grumpy old git. Face not moving due to a lifetime of botox, all sense of normality or expression, the creases of life eradicated from his image, cryogenically frozen although still robotically moving from platform to platform. Terminator 4. The orange one. Symbol of joy and experimentation within Johan Cruyff or Denis Berkamp. He keeps coming back, like a clown on a spring popping up from a box, wobbling around, putting up barriers, retreating within. He’s just scared of his own mortality. Narcissistic c**t.
