Maunderings between two of many

Here is our subject. He is stuck, mind whirling a million miles an hour, the flow of life passing him by as he sits in an easy chair wasteland and contemplates what to do next. This process lasts an entire existence, resulting in an insignificant cycle of birth and death.

Our subject has become captivated with the music and words and activities of others, and in the meantime his own become shriveled and helpless while they scream in quietly pained voices, begging for him to listen. His insides ring out, questioning his intentions and his motivations, his empty stares and deviant thought-processes. They call him ignoramus and poltroon. And so on.

The few words that he deliberately chooses to use and share seem contrived and reminiscent of nothing unique or individual. Hmmm... In rethinking my previous analysis, perhaps "stuck" is a misnomer. It may be closer to "imprisoned", or "stranded".

Let's eavesdrop in on a moment of so-called psychological clarity on the part of the subject's:

'Isn't there enough life to go around?' he thinks. 'Ah, but that is a thing of the past, a primordial notion that begs to be forgotten and prays to open up wasted lines of thinking.'

In this state the subject sits and waits as he always does - patiently hoping that a sincere doctor will wander by to diagnose his condition and prescribe the perfect remedy. This never occurs, but the hope inherent to his condition meshes quite nicely with this faux paradigm.

'It may take decades, but it also may be tomorrow. So I'll sit and wait, there's no need for hastiness or precision. Because all will be made known in time. Yes, this is true! My dear, I know that you can hear me.'

"Maniacal laughter can only bounce so many times off of these padded walls, and yes, that sound is remarkable! I do hear you, of course I do."

'Ah, I see now - that 'he' is me. I'll laugh again. Or, he'll laugh again, I'm not sure anymore! If I were only able to proverbially straighten my arms and reach the keyhole, my life could be meaningful again - in a way that it never was and never has been.'

"These thoughts are meaningless, ho!"

It has never been said that our subject lacks creativity or expectations. What is missing in this equation is the initiative, the compromising of multiple realities and expectations from numerous sources.

'What is missing in this equation is a balance of character! You speak in psychiatric terms and try to prove me a babbling fool! Leave me out of this!'

"Well, has our secret been uncovered? Where is the well-being of all if you tend to your distractions with such valor?!"

'Shall I calmly listen, or is it my turn to speak? Perhaps now I may become the descriptor, the placater. As my mood calms and my words soften, so yours become unintelligible and mine appear academic! It is a glory-bound circle of entwined minds, like Siamese twins or two-headed mythological demigods. It is my turn to shine! Turn off your pretension, and make way for the knowledge contained within me.'

'Ahem.' In a virtual psychosis, our subject battles with his alter-ego - a schizophrenic protrusion that was created by his own internal struggles regarding the outcomes of decisions. May we take from this example and heal our own self-mutilating wars, lest we avoid the fate of our faithful subject here.

"That's quite enough of that. You are the poltroon."

'And take it as you wish.'