I was thinking my own special thoughts my own very special thoughts that only I can know about. Only me only me only me. I was so preoccupied that if you had come up to me and said something to me I wouldn’t have heard you. That shows you how engrossed I was. I was in a state of narcissistic withdrawal from the world. No one will ever know about my own very special thoughts – no one will ever, no one will ever, no one will ever. I am struck by wonder now, thinking about this – I am overwhelmed by wonder as I contemplate the sanctity of private thought. That feels very important to me. Extremely important, not just very important. That’s on the one hand, but it’s also very important to present a balanced picture and the other side of the story is that no one would ever want to know about what I’m thinking about anyway. Why would they? It’s only old nonsense anyway. My thoughts are hideous, hideous nonsense. My own special thoughts, my own special thoughts, my own special thoughts. Terrible, terrible nonsense with no relation to anything. Absolute hideous insanity – my own very special type of insanity that only I can ever know about. Nonsense that only I can ever know about. Only I, only I, only I. And even I don’t really know what I’m thinking about! That’s the real rub. That’s the icing on the cake. That’s the twist in the tale. OK, I think that I know what I’m on about but that’s only because I never really look at it. I have this very superficial impression that I know what I’m on about and that it all makes perfect sense but it doesn’t really. It’s a con. It’s a lie. It’s a hideous farce. For the most part I’m able to buy into the illusion and there’s no problems there, no snags, no lack of authenticity. For the most part I’m able to live the lie and all is well. But underneath this incredibly superficial illusion there’s only sheer hideous insanity, pure undiluted barking nonsense. And that’s my life, for god’s sake. That’s what I do, that’s what gets me through the day. Believing my own thoughts, believing that they actually mean something and that they are deeply precious on this account. Believing that these thoughts of mine actually relate to something, instead of only being hideous nonsense! I know you might say that my thoughts mean something to me at least and that this is all that actually matters but that doesn’t really hold water I’m afraid. My thoughts don’t actually mean anything to me – not really. I just lazily assume that I do and that’s not the same thing at all. Not the same thing at all, not the same thing at all, not the same thing at all. I can only maintain the illusion by never looking at the illusion. I think that there’s something there but there isn’t.
Art – Stoned fox by Adele Morse. Taken from: boredpanda.com