Tuesday, June 28, 2011

All Addictions Are The Same II

spinning spinning spinning,
deeper and still deeper,
let me off at the next exit
so I can go back to sleep.
-"Sleep Is My Drug" by Ace Edmonds

Who can blame me, for enjoying sleep? Between a comfortable bed, soft sheets, and a dream world where I don't suffer all of the shortcomings that I do here, it should be no wonder. The thing I hate about sleeping the most is waking up.

In the dream world I have no joint pain, no need for eye-glasses (though my self-projection contains them so I do still wear them), no problems with depth perception, fewer physical limitations. It's as if I become the person I should have been, instead of being stuck in this Peter-Keating-esk manifestation of myself, where I know who I should be but I can't ever reach it. In the dream, I get to be Howard Roark, John Galt; the true creator, the perfect idealist, the person who is no more and no less than they hope to be.

I suppose it's only human, really. Do any of us ever actually live up to our ideal image of ourselves?

Consider a theme park, somewhere between The Barsoom Project and Gateway to Xanadu. The world we live in is the world behind the scenes, where we get to see how everything works, and more often, where everything falls apart. Step into the dream world, and we might be playing with Avery in Caverns of Socrates: if we wish it, we know nothing beyond these walls around us, as if that is indeed the real world, but we are manifested in our own personal ideal.

Perhaps my problem is that I feel as if I fall so far from my own ideal. It's not something I often feel I can reach, being Peter Keating and all. All I can do is watch people become their ideal, and punish myself internally for my own shortcomings.

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