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The Sentient Meat Crafting illusory Identities

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Isn't it dreary that we substitute proper reading with fiction?

It's as if we would rather escape into a world of fantasy, for the reality is so gruesome, as opposed to delving into that, which uncovers the truths within bona fide reality. The truths that may be incorporated into making that very actuality increasingly bearable. Seems a little backwards, does it not?

The world seems boring for some, complex for others and we head for the hills, into a simpler, professedly colourful one. If one aches for a more imaginative outlook, shouldn’t he or she learn how to digest and interpret the world we live in first and foremost? Why are we to be dependent on the authors of fiction to lend colour with fatuous entities?

By escaping into fiction, we limit reach, we deprive ourselves an opportunity to gain experience (Latin for ‘try’). Let's instead acquire the tools to be whimsical daily in the world that is and a occurs.
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