The Journal of Exploratory Narcissism

time travel

One of my friends told me that maybe I needed to drink a little before writing so I could loosen up and not worry about every single syllable I committed to the page.

I don’t think this is what he meant. But maybe it’s what I meant. [Read more →]

I want to believe

I am, at heart, a gullible person.

Anybody who knows me, who really, really knows me understands that, and probably has exploited that fact at least once or twice. I’ve become used to it, although depending on the gravity of the situation, I still get frustrated over being fooled.

Now, there is a limit to said gullibility. If I don’t feel like I can trust you, then I probably will take outlandish claims with a grain of salt. However, if I see you as respectable, credible, true, I will believe whatever comes out of your mouth. Even if I challenge it initially, if you stand your ground and insist on your words being truthful, I will back down.

Many people tend to assume that gullible people are completely naïve, but I’m not rooted in that camp at all. I’m loath to describe myself as a cynic — the fact that I self-label myself as gullible to begin with contradicts that to the core — but I don’t view the world through hopeful eyes. In fact, I fully expect the worst to happen at any given moment. I don’t believe it’s due to somebody’s selfishness or ulterior motives, but just life’s inalienable right to throw its worst at everyone at any given moment.

I believe my willingness to believe is that exactly — a choice, a conscious choice to disregard what my gut tells me is true in favor of hope. I want things to be wonderful and shiny and full of joy, I want these things so badly yet can’t bring myself to truly believe them for myself. So I wait for somebody to come along with gilded words to blind me with, and eagerly I take them and hold them to my breast, pyrite shells and all.