The truth is, we create our own purposes in this world. We think about and imagine in our minds what should be, what we should be dealing with and all that should be happening and existent to somehow lessen the already inextricable and unsolvable confusion of this puzzle we call ‘life’. We visualize our dreams, and how they could be possible to an extent that they’d feel real. We build houses where we store every last bit of courage and confidence that we have, construct buildings filled with our hopes and passions, and fabricate towers and skyscrapers where our faith and sanity lurk on the apex until some brilliant something or massive nothing comes and happens. We compose the lyrics of our own music, write the words of our own stories, sketch our own portraits, develop the films of our own pictures, mold our own perceptions, form our own illustration and view of the panorama.
Everything is real and fictive until they’re not. We are the truth and lies; fantasy and reality are us.
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