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    The complexity of a trapped mind Essay

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    I can feel the strain. Am awesome strain. Being pulled in every direction. Another advert on the television telling me that “loving yourself is the greatest love of all” and that buying a twenty dollar deodorant is the only logical and tangible way to express that love ….to myself!

    The love of self ..how much do I love myself? Should I love myself? These questions haunted me as I sat in my little studio apartment, the television and a subtle glow from the end of my cigarette illuminating the room. I have always known that we are unique. Who are we? The thinkers. From time immemorial we have been there. Throughout history we are there, Mark Anthony, Taliesin, Merlin, secretaries of state.. a rare breed of people, an elite brand.

    I have no place now. In a world where a short skirt and well tanned legs can get a 21 year old to an executive position faster than a college graduate,and in a world where “its not about what you know but who you know”, or in a world where a pen and a paper serve as the only release for the thinker, a place not limited by comments and social perception.No, I have no place now, not in this time.

    So I sit here in my studio apartment, for days and nights, months and years and as I watch my cigarette slowly burning, smoke rising up from its tip, I realise its dying but the glow that kills it is the means by which it finds the reason it exists – to die. What futility. Alas, that is life, an archimedian spiral of futility. So I stay here, because they are not ready, waiting until they are ready. Watching and waiting. Every second.

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