trying to be honest

It seems to me that writing your thoughts and feelings into a blog has the potential for both religuishing your sense of self -- specifically, how you create a certain persona in your life -- and for the creation of a new, possibly very false, sense of self. For, who is ever completely honest when in the public view; and, if you can be honest, what possibilities does this hold? What freedom can it help engender? But, if you use your blog to say, 'this is me, aren't I so incredibly wonderful', won't this lead to arrogance? After all, I can edit this blog to death, giving a very false sense of my own eloquence. And in life I really don't talk as I write. Well, this is the challenge. Only just pushing your abilities, so that you stay in touch with the reality (goodness, anyone {no-one yet! hehehe} who reads this blog will get sick of this word) of who you are... And, as some author said (sorry, I'm teribble at remembering these things), 'he is fascinated with what he feels he cannot say.' So lets try this...

Today I get lift into town with a respectable looking truck driver (er, yes, he really was). And what a strange character. He had this way of stroking his face continually, as if stressed (I have the neurosis that I cause this reaction in people with my ego escaping its bounds). So, the conversation moves to Thailand where I'm heading soon. It turns out that he went there years ago. The conversation (as verbatim as possible):

Trucker: I went to Thailand once. Never get a taxi. Fucking crazy. Buy a car. With a hooter. Fucking dogs and chickens all over the road.

Me: Oh, thanks.

Trucker: [no lead in] we are sitting having breakfast and he takes out his dick and they start fucking. Fucking breakfast show. [no expression]

Me: Really.

Trucker: [no lead in] and you put your tip on top of a pointed bottle on the bar. She comes over and bends down and picks it up [with her vagina], moves to the next one and picks it up too. Doesn't drop any.

Me: Wow (or something similiar)

The converstaion turns. Obviously he takes my wonder as meaning I share all his views. But how could any hot blooded male not be impressed by this example of female dexterity.

Trucker: These fucking kaffirs; what do they do (gesturing to the side of the road)? How do they get the money to be so fat? You see it as you come through Africa. From Malawi they start getting fatter! And in South Africa, woomf (spreads his arms wide indicating fat)! Fat!
-------

Strange that I can detest his views but enjoy the conversation. I don't feel strong anger at his racism. Maybe I sense that it has causes other than hatred (does it make it better?). Or, that it is not very deep. Or, I am making excuses for not having the courage to speak against it.

Well thats me for the moment.

Paul