Truth is a process, not a thing. It is the process of unfolding that is truth, not the thing that is revealed. For an individual human being, the present becomes a memory. The memory is not the experience itself, but a sculpture in the mind left behind by time, woodpecker.

Ideal and ethical life is not the practice of truthful conversation or honest behaviour. More than in supposed objectivity, truth exists in the artistic performance of survival, which by itself is a mundane, all-consuming instinct. If life is a state of play, truth is an invisible rule, the deepest navigator, the decision-maker. We do not seek the truth, we make up the truth as we play along, just as we make up the lies. Blogging in that sense, is performative utterance, it is role-play.
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Truth for a human being is merely a state of consensus, akin to universal pragmatism, between his many senses and faculties. It is the noun and the verb simultaneously, like "flower". Truth and time are the same, the interval between the observer and the observed, the gravity between the sun and its planets.

Don't tell the truth what its like, or what it should be. How can truth be the yardstick of a civilisation whose biggest asset is imagination and fantasy?

"All my lies are always wishes." - Wilco, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot