Dear Truth,
When you arrived with your radical philosophy (If it is demonstrably true, it’s a lie; If it can’t be proven it’s reality) my life was settled, comfortable. Living things were easy to spot, they grew around me, talked, broke bread, laughed, barked and occasionally slapped me if I took liberties.
The world spun in space, special not because of my existence but as an oasis for all the life we knew.
Now my life is in flux; I was sacked from work, the refusing to sign for a consignment, (that being plainly visible conclusively proved it hadn’t been delivered) was the last straw, telling a client on video conference that he should just fuck off and put the real MD on didn’t help.
The trip home was eventful, suffice to say where I started out in my partners new Audi, I arrived home on foot.
The dogs and family weren’t dead of course, as the constant alarm signal from the carbon-monoxide detector paradoxically reassured me, indeed, as it had as I left for work this morning.
As I don’t sit here in the café, a non-existent police car hasn’t pulled up outside, probably definitely not to question me about the small child they wouldn’t find beneath the wreckage of an Audi, life is filled with so much more potential, with the air itself talking to me and nothing anybody can say to me that is true.
And of course the Earth is static and flat, because everything points to the opposite.
Thank you.