It's nice to be nice, I read recently. But niceness is itself all wrapped up in a concept of plastic, fragmented to the everyday user as series of intuitive guesses. Does being nice not encompass also a certain element of meaningfulness, of truth of intention? Should it exist because we mean to, or because we have to? In either case I wait and watch. The real truth is called the Spencer truth, the one where it's known invariably that it is so after clarifying tonics. One hopes to be a tonic to one's own, but it becomes interesting and very much necessary to also be clear, concise, firm and direct. In summary: potent, but not toxic.
I hope (one can do more though) that the eggshells we tiptoe around are to disperse soon and already, that they lose their crunch of importance right in-between two sleep nights, dissipate with the brightening moonshine. Normalcy doesn't exist, but niceness is her distant cousin and very much fleshy, alive and functional.
Posted by Alice at 1:53 AM