So this blog is unfinished, and I still need to fix up a theme and shit since it’s supposed to be my public blog – but I just wanted to say this somewhere where people would know that it’s me.
I have something against fantasy. It’s like the idea of newspeak from 1984, which was one of the last books I read for real btw (sadly, won’t say when), where the idea is that people can’t think things if they don’t have the words for them. Well that’s the basic idea from my POV. I think it makes sense to me.
So fantasy. If we weren’t exposed to ideas of fantasy, unreal ideas, would we know of them? Would we be able to have some kind of “escape”? It’s a common belief that we need an escape for some reason. Like we need something to help us deal with our “oh so hard” lives. I get it. Life is hard. But maybe we make it hard. Maybe it’s us and not the world. Actually yeah, it is us.
Without unrealistic ideals and expectations which stem from unrealistic and melodramatic movies and scenarios which are planted in our brains, would we be happier? In my opinion right now, yes. Why do we need fantasy? Why do we need something that isn’t real? How will knowing the storyline to a story that isn’t real help us?
The only benefit I can see is that some stories teach lessons and morals like honesty and honor and friendship. But godammit it’s so painful when you look at unreal things like that and then you can’t bear but see the harsh contrast against your own life.
I always get sucked into things like that and it makes me not want to live my life because it’s so much nicer. And then you have all these thoughts and feelings about this nonreal world that don’t help you in any way whatsoever. You’re less efficient, you’re less stable, you subconciously start to believe that real life is like that when it obviously isn’t. These stories are manufactured in the mind of someone else, and sure it’s art, sure it’s beautiful, sure the plot twist was amazing, but real life doesn’t have plot twists. Real life isn’t art and real life isn’t beautiful and real life doesn’t have poignant moments when you shed tears.
Quite frankly, real life is boring and tedious. And, for me, having something non-boring to contrast that with only spirals me into this unrealistic, impractical, inefficient way of thinking which I hate. I think I ranted about this somewhere on my anonymous blog about how “emotion is the bug in the machine,” or something like that, which Sherlock said some variation of.
Creativity be damned it makes me feel so bad to know these fantasies. I hate how I get so much instant gratification from reading them or watching them because it’s not real. I won’t get anything out of them. They make me want to spiral into self-destructive behavior because hey, self-destructive behavior is cute right? Romanticization. That’s also another aspect of fantasy/fiction that I do not like.
Or maybe I just need more human connection, but right now with my vague idea of what I want to do and my vague goals, I can’t have that right now.
It would be so easy for me to just get lost in the fantasies, in the unreal, nonreal worlds, but I know I can’t. That’s what makes it so painful for me.