I told everybody in the first grade I knew Johnny Cash. Of course I was lying. I was a pathological liar. And obviously not a very good one. I just, there was something about Johnny Cash. He knew about war and pain and love and suffering. Maybe I knew he could show me the way through the darkness.
He kinda seemed like God. The God I heard about in church, always talking about judgement and sin. Singing like some eternal rumble. Some primal element. But unlike God and my dad, Johnny was around. He was there singing and I could see him. I could feel him. Maybe I wasn’t lying. Maybe my lies were the only way I knew to tell the truth about my pain.
After all Johnny taught me that love was a burning thing.
See, I was always told that love was hugs and being nice to people you didn’t like, but Johnny was telling me this kinda new profound lie. He said love was fire and destruction and pain. He was a liar like me. Maybe a liar is the only person who will tell you the truth about reality. Bust you open.
Maybe we’re all just dumb animals who gotta be lured into the slaughterhouse by some silver tongued devil. Some sonic boom devourer that will set fire to your silly small truth. Fuck it with a lie. Give birth to a new reality. A contradiction that don’t fit.
Fuck you and your bullshit. Johnny Cash sang the heart of a mountain. Me and him are best friends.