Fantasy or reality? That is the question; one question, at least.
‘Which is better?’ Indeed.
They may be the same; best not to judge
This game, as you say, between strangers on a train.
‘Which is better?’ There is no answer but the inevitability
of coincidence. (Serendipity, if you’re lucky!)
Evoking echoes in ourselves
Unsounded in ‘real’ and often unfocused relationships.
As you intimate (no pun intended): When does fantasy become reality? What is reality?
It seems to me
That there are several kinds, and shapes, and layers
Elusive. Perhaps existing all in one, at the same time, or moving from one
To the other:
Certainly, fiction can present a more ‘truthful’ version of ‘reality’ than a ‘real’ account. Turning reality into words is already an act of translation, of transgression, of betrayal?
Facts rearranged can become fictions: fictions are formations of facts.
A reminder of Schroedinger’s cat: the act of observation changes, or brings into being, that which is being observed.
So the very act of writing down the conversation in my head changes it, makes it a new, a different kind, of conversation
I once heard David Hockney say something along the lines
that art can be more ‘real’ (truthful?) than photography – revealing more depth/more layers… of reality?
And games can be addictive.
No harm, necessarily, in that.
I love your thoughts, by the way.