real and wonderful

Everything you can imagine is real.

-Pablo Picasso

Isn’t this something wonderful? It’s wonderful because the things I imagine can be quite wonderful. It’s wonderful because the possibility of something other than reality is wonderful. It’s also wonderful because it validates our most buried thoughts, which we don't think are quite so wonderful. But maybe, like Picasso says, we are not as crazy as we’d judge ourselves to be.

At the same time, I hate to think that these not-so-wonderful things are real too. Sometimes, when I’m not so careful or controlled with my thoughts, when they go on autopilot, I have this recurring strand that pops up without prompting, it goes something like: i love you, don’t go. And I have no idea whom I am saying this to. Everything in my ‘real’ life is in order and no one is going as far as I know. Yet it always manages to break the surface from time to time. This probably sounds a little crazy, but I (though maybe I’m just desperately clinging to strings here) honestly think that everyone has these kind of thoughts once in a while, floating around and unattached to any sort of justification, which we use to tie around so many silly things--in any case, it could just be that some people (intentionally or not) don’t quite catch them as they fly by.

Because have you ever tried to really pay attention to how much you think in a given minute? It goes lightening fast. If you typed it all up the words would run down the street before you could see the commas, Is it so impossible that in those infinite thoughts, that one or two are churned out as ‘defective’, so to speak? And by ‘defective’ I mean irrational, not built on rhymes--though whether they are any less real…

is really a question for Mr. Picasso.

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