... or is it?

seeing two infinite companions tonight brought up emotions i never expected. perhaps, like so many before me, i am too close to it...

suffering the true lack of meaning in life, tonight. stupid. nothing means anything and the opposite is true, then why the strange and frequent coincidences? a heightened sense of being, or paranoia?

why keep checking over your shoulder for shadows when you know it's just your hair?

why is there a separation between what we would actually do and what turns us on? is it really 'the taboo' or is it something else? in real life, certain things seem to not only turn us off, but to make us disgusted, so why the separation between reality and fantasy?

moreso, is this necessary for our mental stability... do we rely on there being certain things about ourselves that only we know? is it reassuring to know that nobody else will ever know some of those things?

the onset of blogging and exposing your fantasies would contradict this, like more and more people want others to know what we desire in our bedrooms at one in the morning (whether it's bondage porn or mcdonald's or michael bolton doesn't matter). yet, that's not really owning up to your desires, is it? blogging, however realistically you present yourself, is still a separate world from the one we see as real (mostly subconsciously since most bloggers will tell you they see this world as real). reality is based on the interactions we have with other people, how we are perceived, how we perceive others, and what colour our sweater is- happening in the present-tense and something we have very little control over. but the online world happens much more slowly than real life and allows us to have a lot more control over all of the above. there's lags, delays, time zones, moderating, censoring, everything to worry about we don't consider much when we're having beers with some buddies.

being alone in my bedroom is the same sorta thing (even with a computer and an internet connection): a choice to be free of all of those interactions that, in our minds, tell us that what is happening is real. letting the argument of what it means to be real rest for the sake of this idea, what's the difference between these states of existence? and why do people want others to know about their taboo desires, but really not want other people to know at all?

but getting back to the first point, there are many things that turn me on in fantasy that i would not ever find arousing in the real. it's the same thing with people who find yngwie malmsteen technically orgasmic but realistically repulsive- i just haven't been able to pinpoint why.

to me, there doesn't seem to be a difference between someone's individual parts and their whole. well the obvious answer would be that it's generalities vs. specifics- which is a good argument, except for one thing: one cannot exist without the other so they cannot battle to the death since they can't really exist completely independently of one another (unlike luke and darth who could, and did).

which leads to my next question: what is so arousing about the parts of ourselves that we seemingly hate? it's an inner conflict that seems to exist for no other reason than to please other people's ideas of what should be liked and what shouldn't. people love those who hate their whole but love their parts- even if it's a bit of a paradox in my mind. it all plays into the self-deprecating humour that's everywhere, and i'll admit i really like and play into sometimes. it just seems that through and through we love to hate ourselves- even if we claim the opposite by liking this or that about ourselves, it's just not as much fun to actually love everything yourself- it's egotistical, apparently, and unhealthy.

when that link between fantasy and reality is nonexistent, we call it psychosis, but should we? another paradox created between the idea of perfection and the necessity of "controlled schizophrenia" to maintain it...