Fwd: Sam Harris is a liar

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Michael wainwright <skreeworld@yahoo.com>
Date: Thursday, May 14, 2015
Subject: Sam Harris is a liar
To: skreeworld@googlemail.com


Sam Harris is a liar
I read Sam Harris' breif treatise on lieing. How the world could be so much better if we all told the truth. I even know a handful of heaven spawn who've somehow found themselves among us. Like simpletons who've just had their lunchbox stolen by the school bully they look on bemused, aware this higher state, this better way could be. Almost like dogs. Dogs see no reason why an ape would lie. This would merely confuse. Just add to the jumbled road system our nation spins round covering mile after mile of irrelevant Tarmac. Finally these loops deliver the nations taxpayers back to their wives and children but only after stealing half their lives so urban planners drawings looked planned. Patterns drawn often begun with decent intent but as their artwork grows, interposes and super overlays other genii of urban route mastery, the over sprawl, the artwork, the communal tortuous circuitry that never reaches completion, becomes pattern on paper. Junctions of dis function but aesthetic eloquence. Nods of respect as blue motorways curve ingeniously oppositional to users destination. "Smart move, Stephens. Swindon bypassed with magisterial inclusion of reading." The road map of Britain a mistaken correction of a mistake of a mistake. A doubling of fuel consumption because we can no longer go back. It is too late. From power supply to farming. We took the wrong road years ago. We can't strip our paths away. RIP it all up. Start again and correct the growing tumour of vehicle vessels. A dog would wait for night, till lorry and commuter had completed lonely last late night hauls. Then, in silence, ignore all mans laid lineage and head directly for their destination.
Harris hunger for truth. A Christian impulse, if ever one was can never be. Humans tell stories. My characters the work of years adjustments. Alterations to the inadequate truth. For Darwins greatest lesson was that we are animals. Strip us of our lies and all we are is fighting males for alpha pack rulership. Women bitch stabbing in baggage and babble and put down and bitchy digs to raise their status. Men all want to fuck their freinds wives, unless they are ugly. They circulate in dress code developeing their self narratives of bullshit. Creating film characters, swarve, smart, interesting, sophisticated, clever, funny, better in all fields than their rivals. But in the real world where words are meaningless gruntage, it's still the competition. And much as they despise boxers, brutes, animals, it is only men of sport, competing outside of lies. Offering real truths. Of who could realy deck who. Who, if push came to shove could batter who.
On reading Harris I spent a moment in his Christian heaven of honesty and truth. The air was sweet and heads were heald proud. Untwisted by a life of story and characature. Faces smooth,  unwrinkled by guilt, deception and fraud. His laughable fantasy as pompous as his letter to a Christian nation.
I had it once and can draw on it in danger. Never listen to what a person says. Not even the first utterance. Watch what they do. Let there verbal dexterity descend to pig grunt, let it affect your mind no more than silence. But watch what the animal does. The true rulers of this overlay of narrative frauds can get most to believe their piss is rain. That their polite conversational inclusion of ones wife is gentlemanly, while their cock lies semi erect, awaiting your next bathroom venture. This is the world we chose. Lies, deception, nothing is real. Save the boxer. The fighter. He who speaks only to arrange matter of a practical nature. Still some truth lies in tacit knowledge. The carpenter. The mechanic. The nearer to the animal, the nobler the man. But once a man abandons his hands to make his living what has he left? Only stories, deceptions, trickery. And Sam Harris' hands are not calloused. His life is narrative. A linguistic projection of a truth he would like you to believe. That is his job. And he is a fair player. A pretty good damn liar.


Sent from my iPad