Reality, Shmeality

One man's/woman's reality is another man's/woman's La La Land. What reality is to anyone depends on how he/she perceives the world around them. And so, one human's horrifying world view, could look like an afternoon at an amusement park to someone else. Or, put another way, one person's idea of heaven, could be another person's idea of hell. And vice versa. 
The play, No Exit, by the French author whose name is escaping me at the moment, Sartre, maybe? Something like that. Anyhow, the play put forth the premise that people are hell. And sometimes, I believe they are. Certain people, anyway. But for me, more often than not, they are the part of my reality that makes life bearable. 
When I was a boy, my father would take me with him to exciting places, like a garage while his car would be worked on, shopping for tools at sears, and other (for me) cold, empty, and lonely corners of the world that I found soul-numbing. So, at an early age I got a good look at how ugly and lonely the world could be if there was no strong, or any at all for that matter, emotional connection to the "real" around us. I don't blame my father for my feeling of insignificance, emptiness, and, yes, horror at seeing what I thought was the world of men that I would have to live in. He couldn't help who he was. If there was anyone who was not cut-out to be a father, it was he. But to his benefit, he did introduce me to fishing. And although I don't fish anymore, it was something I truly enjoyed all the way into college. 
But long before then (college that is), I discovered the liberation of the imagination through reading science fiction, fantasy, horror, noir, etc., etc. Speculative fiction. I began reading everthing I could get my hands on at a young age. Even today, I can never have enough time to read. I dream of living in a house on the edge of a forest, by a lake, with my books (I do have quite a few), and all the time in the world to read. And that is my idea of heaven.
Anyroad, I just finshed a collection of stories by an Author I recently met, and heard do a reading, Paul G. Tremblay. The collection is titled, Compositions For The Young And Old. I cannot praise it enough. I believe that art, be it literature, paintings, movies, etc., should expand and/or change one's view of the world.  Or, if you like, change one's perception of the world. And there is nothing wrong with just being thoroughly entertained. For me, all the stories in this collection do all of that. There wasn't one I didn't like.This would not be a book for the English learner, I don't think. It isn't that easy a read. And, some of the stories require a strong stomach, or at least not a queasy one. I saw it classified as science fiction, but I would not do so. These stories have elements of more than a a few genres, and are mostly dark, even when I find them warm, and human, they still show the dark side of human nature, and of life. But then, I've been told I do have an affinity for the unusual. 
I won't go into all the stories, as wonderful as I think they all are. I will mention just one, The Jar. It has to do with the addictive, scary of course, and exciting "benefits" of fear. And, it is at it's core, about how the characters' (a grandmother and grand daughter) perception, and enjoyment of being scared, changes as they age. It's a beautiful story. As many in the collection are.
Anyway (anyhow, anyroad), Eddie's understanding of reality is about to intrude on mine. He's going to need some attention. Eddie's idea of heaven is having fresh food and water on a regular basis, getting head-rubs whenever he wants them, having me on the couch so he can sleep on my running shoe for at least an hour or so a day, and having lots of commercials on television with someone whistling in the background (you would be amazed at how many there are now), so he can yell his little lungs out. 
If this is your first experience with this blog, Eddie is a 16 1/2 year old cockatiel (small parrot). 
And so. Adieu for now.