On Imagination and Greed

On Imagination and Greed

Of course, I want The Reedus. I enjoy wanting him; it takes up lots of my time. But in reality, if I ever was in the same room as the man, I’d probably hide under the fuckin table. Cos, I don’t want The Reedus next to The Me. ME doesn’t work in these conditions. I ruin it, the whole imagined thing. You know? Oh shut up.

Figure 1. Of course, I want The Reedus. I enjoy wanting him; it takes up lots of my time. But in reality, if I ever was in the same room as the man, I’d probably hide under the fuckin table. Cos, I don’t want The Reedus next to The Me. The Me doesn’t work in these conditions. I ruin it, the whole imagined thing. You know what I’m saying? Oh shut up.

 

So I wait all week until Sunday when The Walking Dead comes on. This is a pattern of my life when it comes to visual entertainment like movies and TV shows, but it also happens all the time with books, too.

And you’d think the waiting was horrible. But I think it’s the most fun. The most fecund place for the imagination for me is in the warm sugary nutritive liquid of suspense.

I think sometimes that I like the waiting more than the actual reality of the show, though. When it could be a million different things, it’s so much fun to think about. So Sunday, at 9:00 CST, when I know what singular thing the episode has been, I’m all sad and deflated.

(Also sometimes anxious and pissy and freaked and excited. There’s a gamut of emotions, all intense and amazing, given that these are Fake People we are talking about.)

Sometimes I think people who are singular about wanting certain objects or goals – luxury items, dream houses, vacations – those who we might call greedy, are only slightly misguided. Because they’re spending so much time imagining how great things will be when they get their mitts on what they want. Seeing themselves wearing their jewels or running down the white-sand beach or gliding through their fancy palatial estate. Thinking about all the parties and ball gowns and baccarat tables they’ll enjoy swaggering around.

We can condemn them for not living in the present while they burn for diamonds or trips to Martinique, but aren’t they just doing the same thing I am – enjoying the singular delicious feeling one gets while spinning through all the delightful possibilities?

This is probably why I don’t have many personal goals or dreams. I’m not good at being singular like that, perhaps, because I’m always in that space, whether it’s reading or watching television or movies. It seems silly, then, to want just one thing.

I have wanted many things. And then mostly don’t get them. Or I don’t want them anymore. Then I want other things.

The pleasure is in the wanting, I think. In my head, I get everything I want and it’s always just as lovely as I hoped.

 

Leave Reply