Truth

Imagine this:
Two men are walking in an almost-empty parking lot. By this I mean there are approximately 60 car slots, and 7 cars. There is few enough cars to be at any point in the lot and be able to see every car. Suddenly, one man stops the other.

"There is the car," he says.

"I see no car," says the second man.

So we find ourselves in a predicament. Much like the question "does the tree make any sound?", I ask you: is the car really there? Which man is sane, and which is insane? This is a microcosm of the definition of truth. Because, isn't truth nothing more than popular acceptance? It is true that cells are the smallest unit of an organism. It is true that Columbus set foot on North America in 1492. Isn't it? What if there was another man there? A third party who says, let's say, the car really isn't there. Then the lone man is crazy and it is truth that that the car isn't there. But does that make the car's existence any more true or untrue? More probable, maybe, but truer... I don't think so. Now lets expand this microcosm into the real world, and perhaps the ratio of "crazy men" to "sane men" (who know the truth). Let's say one man claims that Christopher Columbus set foot on North America last year. All would say that he is insane. But what prevents it from being true? Or better yet, let's say all people agree on one thing, like Christopher Columbus landing in 1492. Does that make it true?

The answer is no. Truth cannot be defined as popular acceptance. Just as easily as something can be "true", it can be "untrue". These ideas form the basis of the theory known as Skepticism. That theory states that nothing can be for certain. However, I've come to realize that one thing can be for certain. That is love. Love between two people, or love between a man and God, is eternally true. That is because love is not something that can be known. That is, it is not something that can be explained. It is something that can only be felt. Knowledge is not truth. Only love is truth.

Afterlife, among other things, is the relief of ignorance and fulfillment of knowledge, as in most cultures. These cultures believe that when in the afterlife, a man knows all and his soul can rest. This is true. But people have come to regard this "fulfillment of knowledge" as knowing things, such as all aspects of Science, including the human mind, or more abstract, religious things like "what is God's plan?". The afterlife is nothing more than complete love. Love is the only truth and holding it completely will be complete truth. All aspects of the Universe are contained by love. They were created by love and are controlled by love. I'm not quite sure whether Jesus of Nazareth is indeed El Christo, but he certainly did carry the right message: God is Love. God is the ultimate, omnipresent power in the Universe. Love is that power, that we know exists, we know its power, yet is intangible.

Most importantly, you cannot know love. You can only feel it. It is truth, and all the power of the universe lies within it. Perhaps one of the greatest accomplishments of man is to not "know" love, but to know it exists.

I've fucking well lost my wallet!

What a fucking rort. That's not all though. The fucking real pissing Mc shit arse ballsbooby of the whole lot of it... is that it may fucking well still actually be inside my room...

FUCK YOU SELF!

What sort of retarded fucking tool brained prat can't even find their own fucking wallet insise their OWN FUCKING ROOM? I seriously deserve to be smacked upside the head with an iron girder, a la Donkey Kong or some shit, and then forced to watch touched by an angel non stop for twenty years until I finally spontaneously combust and leave "AARRRGGGGHHHH MY EYE'S, MY EYE'S!" burnt into the ground as my only trace of ever existing. But, uhh, I guess instead of that actually happening, I'll just tell you losers the story of it all...

SO thursday night is my usual amusing evening of drunken stupidity at the club of goodness that I commonly refer to as Drunktrust. Last thursday though, I caught up with one of my mates who has just got back from a holiday with his girlfriend... heh, well as of the second night of the holiday, EX girlfriend, hahaha. This dude broke up with his girl while he was thousands of miles from home, with nothing but his wallet (cry) on him. She then proceeded crack the fucking shits massively, locks him out of her parents house (where ALL his stuff was - including plane ticket, hahaha) and he was forced to spend the night in a hostel, alone in a strange town. Is there any reason to wonder why this guy and I get on so well? Hell no.

So anyway, my mate (Yamez) and I meet up that afternoon and end up at my work, overlooking the city and sucking back cocktail after cocktail. So we paid our bill and were about to leave, when all of a sudden this fucking majestic bounty comes at us. One of the chefs has made us this glorious bruscetta, and thrown in a dozen oysters kilpatrick to boot. A quick wallet check reveals that my arse is still with it's trusty companion, and life is good.

An hour or so later, we stumble out of the place and hit the bar downstairs, that is staffed exclusively with ridiculously hot chicks. After flirting and hitting on a few of these chicks for a while, we find out that ther reason one of them looked so familiar is that she is the girlfriend of one of Yamez's ex's housemates (uhh, if you still follow that) and so we decide to beat a hasty retreat. We spend the next five or ten minutes pissing ourselves laughing at the small world we live in and coming up with all sorts of scenarios that involve Yamez getting the shit beaten out of him, first by this chicks boyfriend, and then by his ex. Quick wallet check, and again, the world is a good place to live in.

So anyway... Drunktrust. Yamez goes home cos he has to catch a plane at 9am to go to Brisbane and see his uncle get married or some shit. Who cares. I call him a fag and leave him to cry himself to sleep. I can still see most of the rest of the night in my mind, but it's like a Monet exhibition that hasn't been totally unpacked. Some walls are completely blank, and the ones that do have pictures on them are all bluured and hard to make out.

Here is what I can make out...

Lots of tequilla was consumed

I met up with a friend of a friend who I've been out with once before. The guy used to be an investment banker, so he's loaded, but he's not an uptight fuckwit, he's hilarious. He quit being an investment banker and started managing a pub. Our last encounter started off with ten or so people at his pub, and then quickly moved to a titty bar. heh, and hilarity ensued. Anyway, now I see him again and he's back to the investment banking. I tried buying him drinks, but he wouldn't let me, and kept buying round after round of tequilla, while we took the piss out of fat chicks, narrowly avoided getting slapped and then pretended to be the two old guys from the muppets. I'll take a stab in the dark and say I made another wallet check and everything is peaches and cream, but who really knows.

I spent a while talking to the girlfriend of some dude I know, and I can't for the life of me remember what I talked to her about, but I woke up with her phone number in my phone. uhhh... score? *shrug*

I also found the phone number of the bar MAN in my pockets when I cleaned them out the next day. hahahah what the fuck? Was I seriously THAT drunk? Damn.

Actually, scratch any homoerotic insinuation that I may have just alluded to there, I remember that it was his birthday and he wanted me to score him some speed, and if I did, he would sort me out good and propper, drink wise. Considering I had trouble remembering that, I guess I was right for drinks at the time.

Somewhere throughout all this shit I danced like a motherfucker all over the place, but who knows when.

Somewhere in all of this, one of the girls from work showed up, but I'm totally fucked if I know when she got there or even if we hung out that much, cos uhhh... the only reason I even know that she was there is because she ended up back at my place afterwards.

So the wallet, right? Yeah. Motherfucker. So we caught a cab home. I must've had the thing then, cos I payed for the cab with money that I keep inside my wallet. Now was I so fucking uber retarded that I can't even hit my own back pocket with a hand that is attatched to my own fucking arm, and dropped it in the cab on the way out? Maybe...

We went inside and hung out in my room for a while and spouted some drunken bullshit to each other before finally going to bed. I woke up the next morning and couldn't find the bloody thing anywhere. Hangovers suck fucking balls, and one of us, (it's me, not you just in case you're wondering) had to fucking go to work. Now I've got a pretty fucking messy room, so I didn't think too much of it. I get home from work, fully expecting to find the goodness amongst a pile of clothes or in a couch or something... but no. Fucking NOTHING. I turned the bloody place over
about three times. Nothing.

FUCKING NOTHING.

Where the fucking arse balls is my fucking wallet?! You stupid drunken fucking tool, how the fuck can you not have a clue of what went on between the cab and my bloody room?! It's the same damned routine every night. It's exactly like my wang, it either comes out straight away and gets rested on the table, or it stays on my arse untill it gets uncomfortable and I get up and pull it out before I go to bed. So it's either on the table, or on the couch, yeah?

SO QUIT FUCKING HIDING YOU LITTLE CUNT!

My couch is chock a block full of clothes, so it's totally feasible that it could be hidden in that mess somewhere, but I'm fucked if I can find it. It's not on my desk. That's easy to tell. So where then? Under the bed? Nope. Behind the couch? Nope. In my collection of porn magazines? Nope. Next to the picture of yo mamma? Nope. In my wall safe? Dude, you don't have a wall safe... ohhh yeah. SHIT! Where the FUCK then?

The cab? Probably. But a fucking ring around of every cab company in Sydney (cos we have fucking heaps, and I was waaaaaaaay too pickled to have any idea of what kind of cab we jumped in) revealed a big fat fucking zero in any of their lost property departments.

This totally sucks. I hate you brain. How fucking dare you let some sort of pussy arsed thing like alcomahol take advantage of you, like some sort of cheap slut and totally fuck you up the arse and not let you remember what the hell happened. You're so off the fucking team. Fuk you and fuck the world, I'm going to go and console myself with that letter the Queen sent me that I keep in my wall safe.