Otherworlds.

Why is it I'm so obsessed with things being different than they already are? Whether I'm watching a movie and losing myself in the world it opens up to me, or reading a book about an Otherworld of some sort. Why is the theme of my blog is based on the possibilities just beyond me? Why do I focus so much of my intellect on the fourth dimension, outer space, a land where the things we prove not to exist flee to? Why is my life centered on making this world more Just, more beautiful.

Perhaps it's not all the time though. There is also a side of me that clings to the now and here. The photos I take of the world are an attempt to preserve and perpetuate the perfect moments before me. For they do exist in countless numbers.

There is some link between my love of fantasy and my love of real life.



It's funny when you answer your own questions. You type something out and then suddenly realize the simple truth is. That's the thing with all great questions. Their answers are always simple. I was once told by a brilliant professor that if the answer to your question isn't easily explained, it's probably the wrong answer.

I search for the fantasy, the mystery, the feelings of serenity that exist in the world. And when I can't find them I manufacture them in my mind.


I want so very much for my life to be one long moment in a field of wispy green grass. Just cool enough for a coat. The treeline in the distance, reaching for the sky. Anyone I care about simply existing together and talking for the sake of talking. We don't live in houses, we don't need to buy or sell, or work, or fear. the shade of the tree, and the stories of our imaginations are all we need.


It must be 4. I never could get the hang of late night epiphanies.