And when that writer is responsible for such hits as MAD ABOUT YOU, THE FRESH PRINCE OF BEL-AIR, FULL HOUSE, et al, that’s a reflection to bask in:
by David S. Simon
Here’s what I’m thinking.
We are all in the middle of a story at any give moment. We’re both the protagonist and the antagonist, given the time or place or emotional conditions. Even if we’re at the end of a chapter, a page is about to turn that may invite new plot twists previously unimaginable.
But here’s the thing: we’re also the authors. Sure we have contributors, self-proclaimed editors and out and out story stoppers making an appearance all the time. But still, it’s our name on the cover of our own books which leads me to this:
It’s all, every single minute of it, a story that we’re making up as we go along. And that leads me to this:
The story is full of distortions and various shades of color that we add each time we return to a previously concocted memory.
So our memories are the stories that we make up in order to justify our emotions or our existence.
And that is why it all feels like one grand illusion, because it is.
Now even though we are crafting our stories, that does not mean that we understand them. The real underlying purpose beneath our prose may not be very clear even to us.
So we turn to shrinks and priests and rabbis and mates and friends and worst of all, enemies to tell us what our story really means. And you know what that is? It’s peeking at the end and you know what that does?