Fantasy vs Reality

I live in a dream world. Not continually and irrevocably. I am not always totally immersed in it so that I don't see the outside world. I endure the Real World as I know I have to. But I think if I had to reside in the Real World the whole time with nowhere to hide or escape I would have given up a long time ago.

I don't want this real thing. It's mostly boring and drab - moderately amusing at the best of times. It can never reach the exhilaration, the endless variety, the pure perfection of my fantasy world. Or that of other people. Give me books, songs, films, images, all sprung from the imagination of geniuses capable of creating magical worlds where anything is possible - and everything is believable. The sky the limit? The limit is only that moment when you have to wake up and return to reality.

Give me the Matrix any day. What do I care if nothing is real and I am living a lie. We are all living a lie anyway. Creating culture and religion and morals, love and feelings, progress and civilisation, all we have done is run away from the dreadful futility of existence. Do you think you're happier because tonight you will sleep in a bed from Ikea instead of a bed of leaves? And in our dreams we imagine living with the beasts again.

(to Lo: I know it's supposed to be Imagination but that doesn't quite capture what I wanna say. this wouldn't make a good essay anyway)