Chameleon: 1. Lone Ranger: 0
Chameleons have existed much longer than human beings. This ideal of integrity, truth — philosopher hermit as unique expositor of “how it really is” — is a blip in the story of life.
Nature requires survival, reproduction. Maybe occasional flossing. Prayer. More flossing. Truth, sorry to say, isn’t on the menu.
Does that help explain the varied and incessant channels of squawking and squelching — expounding every conceivable agenda, ideology, prediction, foible, fantasy — with a discernible disregard for anything resembling truth?
Laid bare, such truth reflects none of its expounder’s preconceptions — probably why it’s so rare. That said, do I offer a brand of truth that’s just that — devoid of the essential je-ne-sais-quoi, called, for lack of a better word, me?
Or maybe I just want to have my peace, for better or worse, savoring how good it feels not to care — facts triple checked to ensure they’re wrong.
Careening into an unknown horizon at velocities immeasurable — for morning and mourning alike — to blend with the infinite cosmos; a speck, , a speck — with all whose designer brand fades beyond legibility or recognition.
The light has turned green, and so will I — true color unveiled. Undifferentiated, I return to primality, beyond beginning or ending. I have become nothing at all, unreachable by beckoning or utterance. Truth and untruth converge as nullity. Here, all is perfect.