The divide between imagination and reality should logically be obvious to all, one being a consequence of spurious, fictional happenstance, the other quite literally actuality, unvarnished, truthful, and manifest. Yet that clear distinction has perhaps begun to dissolve, become confused, higgeldy piggeldy, without clearly defined parameters, a concise illustration of the dissolution of the theatrical fifth wall, or that enigmatic consideration named kayfabe.
The need to propagate untruth, to facilitate vagary, must surely only result from an unwillingness to accept a singular narrative that adequately, indeed unequivocally, demonstrates all the requirements of scientific proof directly in contradiction or opposition to a previously unassailable belief, religious or dictatorial.
Society merges the boundaries of fiction and nonfiction at its peril, mixing fact and fantasy to produce a dish of inconsistent and ill-defined nature, the epitome of unidentifiable and mysterious protein, resulting in both questionable dietary value and possible if not probable toxic repercussions.
Humanities circuitous insightfulness throughout history would of course ordain such a path, moving with alarming regularity as it do between truth and illusion, certainty and mystery, an endless contradiction that exactly reflects the eternal struggle betwixt evolution and regression.
A century or two of enlightenment, then the tragic but certain retreat into benightedness, the restoration of intellect hastily followed by the reappearance of dark and despicable ignorance. Such is the rocky ravine infested pathway that ascends the mountain of progress, a road with no particular goal except a small and unwelcoming peak promising naught but a moments respite from sudden assured fall.
Man’s first discovery was fire, enabling the world to ignite and burn, his second a club, stopping any hope of timely escape, his third the wheel, ensuring constant repetitious encircling of the same inescapable axis.