Me he equivocado sitio

I love the internet. I do. I love being able to get up in the morning and instead of turning on an awful television set (I got over my longing for mental anesthesia after just two days) you may actually select what information/ entertainment that you would like to experience. That said, it is still an awful addiction, but who is counting??? On occasion we make a mistake and insert ourselves in the wrong site... a place that calls to us, but that is not good for us... We become dependent on things that are façades, vile representations of what they could be. On the other hand... I believe that I once (or more) publicly uttered that I would try anything once;) I would like to rect-ify my position on this particular stance. Some things need to be tried more than once to give them a fair shot, because the mental preparation comes not with novelty but with practice... Mmm hmmm. That's what I think.

I also think that we are all liars. That the images that we choose to present of ourselves, that the ideas that we let escape into the realm of "reality" are just cardboard constructions of what we wish were true. That even now as I write, I am lying just a little, to myself, to others. I was thinking about the idea of authorial authenticity. Borges is a master of playing with the reader's mind, in the story of Pierre Menard he invents a new author for the Quixote, and in many a story he cites non-existent or false references. It doesn't make him any less of an author, in fact it makes him more of one. It is the fiction, unabashed that makes us examine reality with a grain of salt, so why should it matter if an author invents a story for himself and passes it off as truth? Does it make the social commentary that she creates any less valid? Of course not! Why can't people applaud creativity (fuck- the media spin of reality is so far from the truth it is generally laughable) instead of lambasting a perceived lack of honesty. Who said artists had to be honest, anyway?