Lost Reality?

It is inviting; it is enticing; it is sexual; it is provoking… the door creeks open just a bit, only for a moment, just wide enough to take a peek. Wide enough to hear an unfamiliar sound, inviting you to take the full step in, tickling the ole curiosity. And not long after, the door closes behind, not in front. Here, all is possible. Here, nothing old exists. Here, no judgment is justified. Here, a new persona takes shape. Creating a visual for the populace; one that displays all that one wants to be, all that one might missed to be, perhaps all that one deserves to be. Making it powerful, making it sexual, making it to introduce the first impression without little to no room for a second impression. Setting a playful, sensual, forbidden and excitingly dark scenery, all built by an upcoming personal description, following comments, and perhaps a little story after that, that assures for many to have the heart beating a bit faster, the blood rushing through ones veins… and now, one is guaranteed a loyal audience that surely isn’t going anywhere, and very much blinded by what is being presented. And more are to flock, asking to be just as blinded and a powerful and great feeling is accompanying one, during the time spend in this virtual world.

Here, the grocery bagger is that corporate lawyer, hooking up with the small town hair dresser who now finds herself in a new reality of being a big shot currier woman. The unemployed lady down the street is now the boss of a well run restaurant, which she always dreamed of opening when she was younger, but life really had something else in store for her. He no longer has to feel embarrassed about being that High school teacher that every student hates, but rather be the principle of a highly respectable Private School, where every student is just so well behaved and loving and he enjoys every moment that he is able to visit, perhaps even teach a class or two. The auto mechanic, who, when the lights turn off in the shop, goes home still smelling of patrol and grease. But once home, sitting in that ancient old orange chair, on which the upholstery has taken on a distinctive shape and smell; one more loud and quite disgusting burp before pressing that dirty finger, that still holds black grime in between the skin’s ridges and groves, on the enter-key and the screen flickering back the words “Welcome Mr. Burkhard, Owner of Burkhard and Son Real-estate Group”. Here, the world is great; here, the world is grant and nobody has to know any different.

Our lawyer is telling our currier woman every day countless stories of how he is responsible for the imprisonment of yet another slime-bug trying to get away with cheating society. Showing off his pride with colorful feathers, he has our hair dresser full force falling for him, while she is maintaining the success stories of her everyday business deals to continuously impress him, which our grocery bagger is very much from the first moment he laid eyes on that sexy, half-naked avatar picture. Soon, a private conversation has to be established, because by now, they feel love creeping up, or at the very least, an affair. But whatever it is, let’s not lose the momentum. The restaurant runs better than ever imagined, and soon, a recipe book will be published, with carefully chosen family recipes being revealed, all for the love of the nice customers who made that little dream restaurant a fast success. More and more homes being sold and we couldn’t have a better Real-estate group available to let our housing market flourish. Everyone is impressed with everyone… Everybody loves everybody… the addiction runs its full course and cannot be stopped. Now, let’s just hope that nobody ever finds out that there are grocery baggers, hair dressers, auto mechanics etc… walking along the corridors of this vast opportunistic virtual place.

Nobody shall ever find out that the restaurant is a place our unemployed lady passes by every time when going to pick up the unemployment check. That the real estate group is staged in a big trailer standing on 3 tires; and the fourth corner is held up by some bricks, holding the place leveled. After all, there are real pictures to see of the real places our new personas are so proud of. Those six-pack abs and the perfectly round breasts did their job of first impression and everything thereafter is just that…something thereafter. It feels great when a “supposedly” sexy, red lipped, long legged, high-heel wearing, round-fleshy-perky breasted woman is being a tease with words, the ole auto mechanic wouldn’t hear in his wildest dreams from a woman like that. And here, he might have a real shot at her. “Plastic or paper?” asked with a shy voice and the head bowed down are no longer the only words one speaks to a lady in full sexual bloom. And the not so successful lady with the rather undesirable occupation now has full access to those hunks that used to be only on the TV-screen or in a magazine. When in life, love has been a long departed friend, it is now as lively as ever…and perhaps one doesn’t have to limit oneself to only one person either…after all, the market is vast. One can create numerous personalities on numerous avenues and nobody ever has to know. And if things get a little dicey and too out of hand, the handy delete button is never further then a finger click away.

Here, we can also adapt to feelings that may be known in one’s real life, i.e. love, warmth, jealousy, rage, vicious behavior. But wait, almost all day is spent here, which one is now the real life? Here we have to protect what we rightfully have claimed our own. We’ve got to keep the attention that is now so readily present. And let’s face it, a sexy woman, with lips so luscious, legs so erotically long, passion that melts just everyone’s heart, who could resist, I ask you. A stand-by or two is not so out of the ordinary. Protect the persona is number one in this reality now. We have to stick with the rules of perception. And then, one has to write those dreadful words of departure “Good night, I will see you tomorrow”, before going to bed alone.