I Suffer From Vertigo

I am a cinefile. I have become addicted to watching old movies. Spartacus, Psycho, Dr. Strangelove, 2001: A Space Oddysey, A Streetcar Named Desire, Cleopatra, and this evening, Vertigo.
Much like the hero of the the Alfred Hitchcock classic centered around the most common phobia, I desire to be both audience to and creator of fiction. Scotty (I feel I know him enough to refer to him by his nick name), both indulges in the fantastical schizo-psychology of the ARTificial Madeline. The outrageous and unbelievable qualities of her madness seem to attract Scotty. I am attracted to the dramatic and theatrical (or in this case cinematic) as much as Scotty is.
Scotty and I both share the inclination to (re)create these fictions in our own lives. I do so on the stage; either through direction, choreography, or writing. Scotty attempts to blend his reality with his fiction to such a point he is unable to differentiate, but by attempting this impossible feat, he realized the truth in the fiction and the lie of his reality.
This is the power of art.
We watch, read, and listen in order to escape our own life. And by experiencing a fiction we understand ourselves and our world more than we ever could by examining realtity.
I suffer from Vertigo, but let me look down upon the world. I will eventually focus and see everything for what it really is.