Flowers, makeup, fancy car, eye lashes, confidence, height, cleverness, humor, hard work, a glance away at just the right moment; these are all a trick, are they not?
Signs of health, security, reliability; all tricks to forward the species.
That we believe them -and want to- is more evidence of our orientation to be tricked, toward self-deception than it is of ‘truth,’ isn’t it?
And If we stopped playing each other our tricks? Would we not grow sad and somber and long for a good lie? Wouldn’t we become pent up with foolishness and commit ourselves to the maddest of beliefs just to invite the devil back into our home? Wouldn’t we make him a bowl of finest porridge and pick her pretty flowers (borrowing a trick of the flowers for ourselves); and wouldn’t we wear finest perfume, rarest spice, and wouldn’t we spice ourselves for the devouring; just for the hint of excitement? And isn’t that excitement sexual? Aren’t all of our tricks?
Trickster indeed makes this world. Sign makers and semiologists we are; we twist the arrow when no one is looking, and we like crooked paths, we tricksters; we madden this world for its own enjoyment, its own sanity, and for our own pleasure games.