HUSK 1.3

Have you ever been lied to? Have you ever been lied to for an extended period of time by someone you love? Have you ever been lied to so much that you can’t tell what’s real? Honey, I hope not.

Why do people lie? Isn’t it easier to live out in the open? Isn’t it easier to breathe?

People make mistakes. That’s true enough. People do things they can’t explain. But serious lying (not the hey, how’s it going? good kind of lie) hurts not only the person to whom the lie is told but also the liar themself.

Even in art you have to tell the truth. Maybe especially in art. If a fiction is false, it holds no meaning. Its beauty is irrelevant. If it’s not true, fuck, it’s not art—it’s advertising.

I’ve been thinking about truth lately. I’ve been thinking about how to see clearly. It’s so hard to trust another human. It’s so hard to trust another human then have that trust broken. It’s so hard to feel the transcendent reciprocity of all people and all things in that moment of rupture.

Here I am going in circles. Do you understand what I’m saying? I guess it’s this: don’t fucking lie. Say what you mean. If someone doesn’t understand you, SAY IT AGAIN. If they still don’t understand, take their hand in yours, pull their body close against your own, and let them feel it.

Words are not always the best way to speak the truth. Sometimes words are the hardest way, the least intelligible.

If you’re reading this zine now among other humans, I beg you, throw it down, reach out for the person next to you, and, if they’re willing, embrace them with all your strength and warmth. Feel every true thing in them (which is all of them) and let it flow between you—a net of compassion, twelve seconds of safety, a reminder that all barriers are of our own making, that every block is a lie.

I love you. And that is the truth. Please enjoy.

Love,

Liz