loose thoughts/blunted on reality

what is real? crystal clear images. digitally. so many pixels u can almost the atoms. lies. all lies. those tits are fake. that muscle was airbrushed. this one starve herself for that figure. that one smiles though inside a black hole threatens to suck her very life away. and yet we imitate them. look at them. on magazine racks. in movies. on television. talk about the latest gossip with that strange mixture of disgust and intruige.
where does reality begin? certainly not with ourselves. looking at a lot of blogs and myspaces and facebooks, and being a using of all three, i'm starting to feel as though we all feel the need to editorialize our own lives. something in my is critical of that desire. it feels to much to me like press. like a smaller imitiation of the media machine we find ourselves caught up in.
what's the point in broadcasting all of our friendships and interactions? i'm starting to feel like the world--ok, my world--is lacking real interaction. of course things like distance make that impossible. but even a phone call is better than the minimal myspace comment, or looking at a picture. because what's the first thing we do for cameras? act unnatural. pose. and even the pictures that catch us in the natural, i'm still posing. [i'll stop using the "we", cause i don't know u] i'm still making split second decisions about how my action will be recieved.
too often i find myself looking at myself. looking at pictures, words, clothes that i've chosen to respresent myself. and very slowly i've gotta confess that i let shit slip out of wack. clothes don't make the man. i'm cool because of the person i am. those representations will never do me justice. so i shouldn't give them that kind of wieght. confession is the first step to recovery.
and now i'm looking at myself looking at myself. lol. a nigga just can't win. but i can think myself free.--reallycalvin