Why reality? Why the big deal? What is Plato’s usage of the word tell us about his definition? How come I am obsessed by this topic? Why must I relate art to reality?
I was confident in my previous theory of reality; the more real the more useful. But this idea still doesn’t get at how I determine the real thing. The real thing was determined by a look. Those things seemed to be useful, however, the theory fails right away. A car seems more useful than a toaster, but the former doesn’t appear (look) more real; they appear to have the same reality. So I determine that all things have the same reality. Reality cannot be thought of only as a look. We can say things like, ‘the TV show, Bachelor is not real’. It doesn’t depict life honestly. It’s just a game. But that’s a generalization. In fact, certain aspects of human nature may be depicted…..

I started to panic. For all the reasons it happens. The worst of it comes with paranoia, ‘why is this happening to me?’, ‘what did I do to deserve this?’, ‘people make mistakes, but this seems cruel and unusual..’. A thousand reasoning that only make matters worse. Then afterwards a defense is manufactured. Things that would not disturb to such excess, in a society that values work and it’s output, a life stitched together with many successes, time that is lost without work’s output, is good reason to panic. Time is for success, not failure. This is how it goes in America. The word doom comes to mind. Getting wasted seems ok.

The reality is that time is coming around knocking on my door. The realization I most likely do not become the kind of artist I had hoped to be is like an avalanche. That I previously could cope with, keep at bay, comes crashing down. Regrets, emotions and feelings about a place,…Alienation, all the negative things, …This place is an obstacle. I must overcome the negativity it generates in me. One does need these mini-successes. I don’t see another way. Damn, I really want a beer right now; a bold beer. And damn to absurd and ingrained notions of beauty.