inedible passions. tasty little braindump.

There’s nothing embarassing about wanting to escape. In the physical world we move in, there are larger forces that we cannot possibly control. Or worse, that these larger forces control our lives with such ferocity that we have to trot alongside them and obey their rules, with clenched teeth. What can we control? Our fantasies, our inner worlds. Flight is easier than fight, and we can feel our muscles relax as we drift away to where we feel free.

It makes me nauseous to wake up into reality, though. I might not be in the Nebuchadnezzar, but it sure feels drab in here. (I’d like a steak, please.) As if the truly rich are content with their lives without fleeing to their fantasy-made-tangible worlds.

No one’s better off, rich or struggling to keep one’s head above the poverty line. I’m still confused as ever.