Fiction Fiction Fiction

I'm not to big on fantasy fiction. Writing or reading it. Life is already infinitely more strange than anything I could come up with. And it's already far more artificial than made up lands and monstrous creatures lurking in clock towers. At least, in those places, evil is evil. The princess is always good and pure. The woodland creatures are just trying to help.
Plus I think it's fair to say that we're making things up as we go along anyways. And if fiction is the art of creating a story, then I guess there really is no such thing as nonfiction. Destiny is something we shape, not the other way around. Fiction is everything. We are always participating in the act of creation, of deciding who we're going to be today. How we're going to respond to things. What we're going to say next, do next...

I'm not making much sense to myself these days. Please, what am I saying; I never really make much sense to myself. I think the problem is more I'm not sure I'm making much sense to anyone else lately either. This post for example.

I think it's about inauthenticity. But it's also about how weird my life is right now and how I'm trying to cope with that. And it's about how I have writer's block? It's about how I'm still trying to understand the punch line. But mostly, it's about how fiction is the closest thing to truth we're ever going to get.