There is no greater lie than total honesty. Arriving at the core of our thoughts, feelings, memories, and intentions, we discover nothing but a spider web of associations between them beaded by the dried out bug-husks of experiential phenomenon.
Surrealism isn’t simply the boredom of hearing out the fake dreams we pretend to have while awake because we expect it of ourselves, it’s the profound rationality of seeing in reality the fictions by which our minds imperfectly encode knowledge. The western intellectual tradition is hostile to the virtual pleasures of the imagination because it is afraid to admit all realities are fantasy.
I therefore request twelve long haired and beautiful surfer boys to tie me down onto a mattress in their beach house to serve as their shared wife in spite of my primary sex characteristics. I furthermore suggest we indict all traitors who dare speak out against honesty as though it were not the sacred pagoda which enshrines eternal truth. We will cut out the tongues of those who protest candor.
Surrealism is never boring. Surrealism has no cliches. Surrealism does not repeat itself. Surrealism is change. Surrealism is unexpected. Surrealism is Surrealism is Surrealism. Surrealism is reality. Reality is rationality. Rationality is, therefore, never boring. Never. Boring. Never. Boring. We can’t remember what it’s about anymore, but it must be interesting because it’s Surrealism, which is never boring, or repetitive.
Once my twelve husbands have filled me with their seed, I shall use divine telekinesis to recombine their genomes and breed a superhuman race, molecule by molecule, whose mother I shall be. It can likewise be argued that honesty is the greatest lie for it is the one we tell ourselves. What surer path to misery is there than insisting upon who we are and what we want when we seem already to be running astray? I’m a witch-boy who needs to be cloned – one of me for every beautiful man!
I shall order my precious demon child to kill me so that I do not fall in love with him.