Note: The following brief experiment are my poor attempt at trying to rewrite the jumbled words in my brain and put them to paper–that is, to screen–without deleting or rewriting anything. Take it as stream-of-consciousness, or however you will.
Relationships are fiction.
Why does that sound negative? Is something that is fictive unreal? Do our relationships not possess a certain verisimilitude to them, making them better than fiction? Does real life transcend that which is not real?
Or are they fiction in the sense that they’re constructs? That this reality is a deceptive illusion, like Einsten said, in the way that your reality is not quite the same as my perception of it?
Sanity/insanity. Sanity is in the eye of the beholder. Who beholds sanity? What sort of dichotomy is that?
What is truth?
I am Truth.
What is relationship?
Family, friends, strangers, God–all relationships, spanning socioeconomic, religious, and cultural backgrounds. Overarching, ubiqutious. Fictive. Construct. Intertwined connection, hopelessly tangled together.
What is fiction?
That which is a representation. Not always a lie–surely not, surely it’s more than that.
Look at a picture of yourself. Is that really you, flesh and blood? No. But it’s still you. It represents you.
(Are you watching closely?)
The Fiction of Relationship? What paradox is that?
It is the subjective analysis of the intertwined. I read, I interpret. You read, you interpret. Ethos or addiction? Lust or love? Either/or||both/and? It all runstogetherinonegreatjumbleoftheinherentfitivenessofthatwhichislife.