The False

The truth is a bar of soap twice your size, lying in wait at the center of a six-mile oil slick.

The truth is, everything I said I'd never do, I've done and would do again.

The truth is a bloated, rotting blue whale carcass on the shore of East Asia.

The truth is a black ribbon of carpet rolled out to the horizon which must be walked in its entirety in order to keep the nose of understanding above the sewage line, which fluctuates without pattern or warning.