There are a million images running full tilt at the front of my mind, battering themselves against the barrier of consciousness like a relentless wave made mighty by the movement of a multitude of drops. The fortifications are crumbling, but what then? When you lose control of the chaos that is human thought what happens? I alone can not channel each idea into actuality and anyone who thinks that they can has already been driven mad by their own demented brain.
We are creatures of logic whose entire conscious existence - the very thing we hold so dear - is an irrational blur of administrative nightmares. Sorting. Categorising. By God’s eyes, dare I even say: compartmentalising.
It’s an exhausting task to maintain coherence at the best of times and at the worst action must be taken to distract, to forcibly focus the masses into one unified effort. They unite, but weakly. The potential scope of all this ethereal nonsense is vast beyond comprehension and yet upon acquiring the aid of this great nation that has settled upon my brain I can find nothing but an enduring malaise.