Fiction and False Pretenses

Accosted by confusion; that is often where impulse lands me. I would like to say it's a small boat, but the Titanic could not suffice to hold all of its passengers. Such tangents of woe befall me when I seek to lend and ear. I cannot sum up human discourse in these few short words, but let me express to you how human interaction baffles me.

No one moves in straight lines, you would have to be a simpleton to not know that. I just can't help but wonder how different we would all be, if our minds were open like the pages of a book. If you are willing to read, you would not be stopped by mazes of brick walls backed by trap doors and sink holes. Sanity often seems the price we pay when we try to reveal the answers to mysteries we have no right to solve.

Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if we were all animated. Which is to say we were all drawn in a stereotypical fashion of some sort. Perhaps if we abandoned all notions of existentialism and became the very blatant preconceived notions that we are constantly at war with. I am not saying this would be politically, or morally correct, I just enjoy pondering the implications. There would certainly be a huge loss in uncertainty avoidance; if everyone moved in the straight sequential trails as once illustrated in children's fairy tales. You could literally take everything at face value. But as many science fiction films, books and comics have taught me, any attempts to limit the quirky unpredictability's that make humans, humans often lead to Armageddon ensuing consequences. Or at least a horrible bloody revolution.

Afterall I was just pondering.

I find it kind of funny that the trials and tribulations of real life often turn me to fiction. Suppose you could write your own ending? Would anyone even want that power? For even if you seek nothing but your own happiness and fulfillment you have the potential to cause a domino effect of misery and suffering, but how would you ever know? The steady march of technological progress has led to so many delicate constructions of illusion. I used to believe that such cultures as the gaming culture were a waste of time. I stand corrected. Is my perpetual drive towards the enthralling lives of made up characters in the guise of movie and television stars any different than their own obsession? I would have to be a snob to assume that fiction conquers all. A romantic I am, assuming I am not. So even though I find myself increasingly eager as the night of new episodes approaches, I can't help but find myself somewhat pitiful knowing that I am watching them and their adventures rather than having ones of my own.

But I know why...

It is because they, the beautiful constructions of idealism within a human design, represent all those "animated" (if you take the definition of animation loosely) stereotypes. There are true heroes, and people whom actually fit the role of protagonist. It is only within the context of story that these 'people' can say all those things you miss in real life, do all that you wish people would do. They dedicate, devote, act deranged or fallen. We wish them, quite literally, on occasion. We love them, we hate them, we become part of them; it doesn't matter. If we want them they are there, if we don't they aren't real. It's a win win situation.

I turn to them when the individuals who frequent my day to day seem poised on a knife's edge, and slipping becomes inevitable. No one ever intends to make mistakes, but everyone does.
It is within these tangled webs of broken words, stifled blunders and blinded consciousness that we choose to interact. How Brilliant. =S