Probably the earliest flyswatters were nothing more than some sort of striking surface attached to the end of a long stick. Even though I was their captive, the Indians allowed me quite a bit of freedom. I could walk freely, make my own meals, and even hurl large rocks at their heads. It was only later that I discovered that they were not Indians at all but only dirty-clothes hampers. To me, truth is not some vague, foggy notion.
Truth is real.
And, at the same time, unreal. This is truth, to me. To me, it's a good idea to always carry two sacks of something when you walk around.