Creative Writing

(This. Now this is a ramble. I have no idea what happens. It just does. Confound it, where did that blasted thing go! For the soon to be confused, I wrote the black part first and then came back and tried to debate myself in red, so I dispute lines you haven't read ahead of time since I know what to expect. I'm tired, I'm ornery, but I have to work this out! There has to be an answer! No matter what Mr. Ross thinks. There has to be!)

Fantasy and reality. The ideal and the truth. Our minds dance along the imaginary line separating the two, stepping into one realm or another only a beat before we return to the other side. A clever waltz, a subconscious dance we don't even realize we're participating in, plodding along to an orchestral epic of Fate's own devising. The dance involves different steps for each individual. Einstein theorized that all things are relative. My fantasy is only a fantasy for me, a reality for some, a nonentity for others. The same for my reality. I define it, and yet it seems as if Fate has been kind enough to define it for me. I don't understand how the definition developed; it must have been a long arduous process I wasn't aware I was participating in, but apparently the process has reached fruitation. My direct input was not required. My reality is defined, and it is a grizzly one at that. I'm reminded again, my life seems to be a gigantic paradox. I have to tread the thin line between two extremes in order to perpetuate the truth of the matter. There is no net to catch me if I fall. So I do my tricks, I dance, I maneuver between my line, but I can't fall off. Destruction awaits.

I realized today that I am trapped in yet another paradox. I'm an unconformist in fantasy who conforms in reality. I suppose it's not really a "realization," but rather an elaboration on a prevailing theme. For some reason, I've the moral system of a Puritan, in reality. In fantasy, I'm a romantic, not letting myself be defined by society's taboos and rules. But I need society. Or at the very least I need noninvasive order. (And yet, isn't it hypocritical to not follow my dreams and encourage others to do so? But then I'd be invading on the fundamental rights of others to not be disturbed. I'm not disturbing them, they're disturbing themselves! Why should I hold myself responsible for their insecurities?) So I have a fundamental Puritannical nature of conformity. I can dream, I can talk, I can create but I can't actually change my reality. I'm defined by logic, for it seems to be my only ally. A Rasputin, I suppose, but one I still follow. What else can I do? Spit in the face of order and jump into the uncertain chaotical cesspool, riding the winds of time instead of letting them erode my cold heart into dust? (There, right there. You see it too? How I note both sides are unfortunate, not just the contrary alternative? "Erode my cold heart into dust", right there! I recognize both are bad. The difference is one is easy. But if it's painful and incomplete, what's the point in easy?) Of course not. I cannot violate the whims and ideas of others unless they bring it upon themselves. I follow the prevailing acceptable sentiment. (We've been over this. You know society can be wrong. How can you still support a wrong notion? That's your very argument against Hell! That you idealistically stand despite the consequences. You're not condemning yourself, God is. Just as you're not affecting others, they're affecting themselves!) I must have order. It's the only way to preserve our reality. (If reality is incomplete, who wants it? Or maybe it's not complete without fantasy. So that makes fantasy a part of reality. But what does that mean?!) Some people can break free, and would that I were one of the blessed. But alas, I'm merely a dreamer. I can dream, believe me, I can. You should see some of them. My imagination sees an idea, latches onto it, and takes it to heights that are as improbable as they are pretentious. Real possibilities, all of them, but I am no visionary. I lack ambition, desire, an internal impetus to ride life's flurrying coattails. (You say happiness is the main goal of life. Is that not an impetus enough? Why won't you actually listen to yourself? How can you be such a collossal hypocrite and get away with all this?)

My train of thought must tear you all to pieces ;). Back to fantasy and reality. When it comes down to it, I thrive in fantasy. It's a world where one cannot go wrong; everything is reversible, no harm is ever done. But it is fantasy. I enjoy it, but only because it's not real. There are no stakes, no rules, no definitions (But fantasy is defined by reality! It is, it is! What reality is not, fantasy it. By defining one, you get the other! There are definitions to fantasy; what is not defined in reality. Right?). Illegal drugs, death, depravity are all terrible when they're real. In fantasy I find them quite humorous. In reality I loathe them all. Such is the situation with Romanticism and Puritanism. In fantasy I embrace fantastic ideals, emotions, and epic stories. In reality I can't stand any of it (But you enjoy sadness. You can respect the purity. You live for emotions, be they yours or others. What else is there? Emotion may change, but it's constantly changing!). Dramas are fun to read about, not experience. I desire fantasy. But that's because there are no rules or limitations. Reality is defined(By what fantasy is not?). The line is created because by reality's definition. I can fantasize all I want, but reality pokes its ugly little head in and taints the image. Doubts are all products of reality; they plague me. Math, english both are worlds of theory(That fit clearly into reality. If they can do it, why can't your fantasies as well?). The things I dislike involve reality. But how can I transcend reality? I can't(I can't. No reason can supply a suitable explanation. It's innate. Debating ingrained ideas is pointless, they don't change. Logic doesn't matter, faith doesn't matter, reality doesn't matter. Once ingrained, how do you lose the etched letters on your soul? How long until they fade? You can't erase them, can you? Can you?). The definition is clearly stated. To make fantasy a reality is to turn into reality where the definition corrupts it. *sigh* None of this makes sense, I know. It was all so clear a minute ago...

Simple, simple... In the fantasy I thrive. Make it a reality, I suffocate. I dream of fantasies, I live in reality. I preach fantasy, I follow reality. I want fantasy. I have reality. (This is like an Escher painting. Those can't exist. But then the link David produced says they can! The cycle can really exist, the simultaneous nature can! But the water won't run as it should. The water won't go on forever. It can't work.)

***

There. That last part. That works. The reality is always simple. The fantasy complex. But isn't the simplicity a fantasy? The question is a complex one, there are no easy answers. Yet I'm producing one. I'm living one. The very thing I condemn, making an easy answer to a complex question, that's what simplicity is. That's what reality is. No, it's fantasy. The simplicity is a fantasy that I want to make a reality. The reality will taint it. No, that's not it either. I had it, I had it right in my hands, my understand. I had it. And just like that it's gone. Gone. Oh my dear, the cycle's clear for those who care to stare into this complex abyss. (An eternal abyss. Not a cycle. A one way path to nothingness. Or through quintessential existence. I won't know unless I jump. It's simple. Simply impossible.)