On Imagination

Don’t know if many people do this, but I’m guessing there’s some of you out there.

Few hours ago, I was walking home with a buddy and we were imagining some crazy, stupid, epic shit that would be cool and awesome and probably terrifying to see in our measly ordinary existence in this reality. Fantastic, incredible, unimaginable shit—things that could and would never ever happen in our lives, or anyone’s for that matter.

It was only a short walk, and we discussed it for a brief time, and I don’t know about my friend, but all I could see in my head was all that crazy shit coming together, and me being a center of it, and it coming at me, and it being awesome.

Throwaway conversation becomes inspiration to me. “Wouldn’t it be cool if…” becomes “Why not make that?” “Why not create that world?” “Why not become that person?” “Why not believe?”

Say what you want about it, but the way I think—the way I’ve developed my imagination, I’m always more willing to see the fantastic than the ordinary. If only in my head, if only for a brief moment in time, I’d rather imagine something greater than the world itself than sit in a chair and observe reality.

Sure I’m a realist in normal situations, but shit, when I dream, I want to dream up things that I will not ever experience. In a way, I’m creating it then, it’s mine, and I can do what I want with it.

‘An idea is the most resilient parasite’ – Dom Cobb

I’m paraphrasing, but I think Cobb from Inception said something along those lines.

I know a lot of creators and storytellers and artists have that parasite in them, and the cure is the camera, the paintbrush, the typewriter, or what have you. I don’t think I’m at that stage yet, where the idea becomes unbearable to control, because, well, I invented the parasite that is this idea, it’s mine, but it also feels like its own entity. Certainly shaped from my perceptions and experiences, my resources and definitely the clusterfuck I consider my imagination, but it can grow and thrive and writhe this way through my psyche until I put it on a page.

Do I want that to happen? Eventually, yes. I want to constantly spend my time trapped in my mind’s worlds, creating and destroying, shaping and reforming everything that I have under the control of imagination—or maybe, rather, under control of whatever idea is consuming me, I hope.

Look, I can’t draw, but I’m planning on learning, I can’t dance too well, I don’t do a lot of sports, not a scholar or a savant, I don’t have a +1 in Charisma or Strength, and I probably can’t do a lot of things my friends can.

For me, it’s always been, “What do I have?” –mind you, I don’t mean “What do I have that others don’t”, because that’s restrictive and overly self-deprecating. Just, without any ceiling to reach, any basis for comparison, what are my assets?

I’m fairly good with words, I know people who have a better grasp of it, but I can write a decent paragraph on lots of topics. I have pretty eccentric, sometimes broad, tastes in music and movies, and TV. Gaming’s a big thing, and I’m pretty good at it. I know a lot of esoteric information about mainly comics, but also some other topics.

I’m a nice guy too—let’s check that off for those wondering.

Above all though, because recently I think I’ve chosen this one as the big winner, just because it’s probably the main thing I have going for me—I imagine things greater than myself, this world, and the people in it. By no means is this a set-in-stone trait. And by no means, am I done learning more about this asset, let alone done developing it, even eventually training it if I have enough willpower, frankly.

I like to think I’m a bit more imaginative than my peers. I see solace and interest in things that most other people wouldn’t be the most keen to discuss. I like thinking about things that will never happen, simply because it provides a chance that it will happen for me—in my head, yeah, but really what’s the damn difference?

The whole fiction vs. reality debate and all that, I don’t want to get into. Who would pick reality, really? Everyone has the story they want to be a part of, be they the writer or the protagonist. Every boy wants that girl. Every unhappy wife wants that harlequin novel affair to happen.

Every person wants to escape.

There’s just some that can’t, because they have a 10-foot tall wall made of believability and comprehension blocking their way out from that rut of being stuck with this reality.

A lot of people can jump over it too, break it down, stomp on the rubble, with a pen, pencil, brush, keystroke, mouse click—whatever, they’re all tools. Just takes one fantastic idea, one fantasy, specific as a space cowboy rescuing alien refugees, or as vague as just getting up and leaving, is all it takes for someone to accept that dreaming big and taking what you know and turning it into something no-one ever will know is okay for a while.

After all, it’s all in your head, until you want to make it more.

And I’ve wanted to make it more for some time. Ever since I’ve witnessed others who do it daily, for a living, and love it. Ideas turned into fruition, into worlds—not yet real, but not totally intangible anymore. A great in-between—perhaps the closest form the idea will get to an individual’s reality. I’m thinking comic books right now, but it can be novels, films, television--hell, even music if you value hearing as much as sight, but it’s all the same, again.

I dream big; vivid and vast, because it’s the best thing I can do right now. I don’t like reality. I’m sorry. It’s just not working with me. Hell, I know I’m stuck with it, and I got a lot of helpers I’m thankful for to make the ride enjoyable, but after what I’ve seen and what I’ve dreamt, I'll take any chance I get to hop on board any other reality out there.

That’s why I read what I read—probably most others who do it do it for that reason too. Escapism is the drug that keeps imagination alive. That one core desire that we’ve developed for ourselves, and not enough people I think embrace the power of imagination to self-sustain that feeling of escapism, if only for until the movie ends or the last page is written or read.

In my mind, with that one parasitic idea (I hope), my imagination creates the drug. And I control my imagination. But wait, that’s an oxymoron. You should never, ever try to control your imagination, in fear of what you might find, or whether it hinders your grasp on every day life, it doesn’t matter. Just do it because you can, and because it will inevitably take you places.

I’m not talking about imagining God’s telling you to slaughter a bunch of kids to bring them to Heaven, those people are flawed from before this whole ‘imagination is a drug’ thing.

I’m talking about me, and hopefully someone like me. Maybe you. I hope, you.

Hell, it’s brought me places. You can’t really tell right now, because I’m in the same physical place as I was since I was born; normality reigns, reality binds.

Places don’t have to be physical though. I’ve imagined a couple worlds, a few dozen or so people I’d really like to meet if I could, and a few world-changing/cosmic events to spice things up. So yeah, I’ve gone places, and back. And gone to them again.

So do I prefer those realities over this one? Sure. As much as acting on that preference is an impossibility, nothing else is. I have real people, real places in housed in my mind. Real to me, is real enough, okay?

I don’t care if I sound bat-shit crazy, this is what I want to do for a long time. I want to make worlds and hopefully, painstakingly, make them as real to everyone else as they are real to me.

That’s the burden of imagination. That’s the cure to the parasite that is that one, award-winning, life-changing idea. That’s my biggest dream.

Three minutes of walking down my street, thinking about how a discoloured lamppost could actually be housing an light-based energy alien lifeform scouting from inside the shell of the casing, which is actually a camouflaged outpost to send information to its homeworld.

And look where it’s brought me.

Don’t just think about life, imagine it. It’ll do you some good.

[I really am grateful for you, dear Blog Reader, if you got through all of that. I thank you for your dedication for this blog, I know I’m light on the GIFs and reblogging. Kudos]