Reality but a distant dream

You live your life as if its real.

Cohen was right as bizarre as it seems. There is no such thing as reality, only a perception that we take advantage of and the mediums that we call our last vestiges of escape are as fictional as they have ever been yet with every step towards our knowledge of how fake things are we are told that they are even more real than ever. Reality TV, game shows, talks shows, nonfiction books, news, political statements, causes, wars and economies. Everything is a farce, a fiction used to control the mind and how I wish this were some conspiracy theory level nonsense, but sadly it is only the musings of a man who has lived on four continents and witnessed multiple regimes and political ideologies.
Communism, democracy, all shades of the same. I would choose to be an anarchist if that notion were not hijacked by those who are seeking nothing more than chaos and destruction.
What does that mean to the writer? The writer who has dreamed of capturing human emotion in its purest form. What is there to catch? Moreover, even if one were capable of such things would anyone read it? Would anyone want to? Alternatively, is it better to form emotions that are expected? Tried and true methods of lying to ourselves just so that we can stay alive for a moment and not bleed out in the insanity that is existence. Absurdism is reality, but why must we all seem to fear this Sisyphean fate? Why is it so fearful to know that we are pushing that boulder back up the hill only so that may roll back down? Why do we need that second world and a love that cannot be? Why is reality a truth that we dare not speak and we choose this lie for eternity?
Lastly what good is a writer, one who wishes to document the notion of existence if they are more concerned with a sale and to perpetuate a formula that equals a deal rather than pushing the craft, the art, the idea of humanity to its next level? A level where reality is not a thing to be feared.