I am sitting in a cold, damp room. The floor is made up of faded wood panels reaching desperately from one wall to the other. I am all alone, sitting in silence except for the dripping of a broken pipe in another room. At this point, I can't even guess the time. My arms are placed at my sides and my legs are out in front of me. My head is back and my fingers are almost motionless. And although I remain still, my mind is racing.
Have I trapped myself in this state of fabrication and imitation? I now ponder an new idea that is endangering my whole sense of reality. I'm beginning to see things differently. I am outside looking in. I'm forcing myself to contemplate my own observations and values. It's all coming down to whether or not my faith is put into my own thoughts and actions, or rather with society. I have learned to desire power. I've been taught to feel this way and how to politely achieve such luxury in a socially acceptable manner. I've wanted to be the one that dictates what is right and what is wrong. Until now, it seemed instinctive to follow the example of the generations before mine. It seems as if we are all simply cattle.
I've seen the working class slave over a computer while knowingly surrounded by the bare walls of their work place. They are taunted by deadlines and their superiors and are constantly being teased by the generic, ticking clocks hung on the walls. The thought of living this way makes me sick. The truly important things have been pushed into a back corner; the love, the laughs, the music. They are an obstacle. Our knowledge of the corporate world and tax sheets is far more crucial to our survival. We are all being dictated by society rather than our own passions and drive.
And still, I've watched my theories crumble in front of me. I've seen the things I had loved more than the world, break down. And to me, I am the furthest thing from perfection, but I am optimistic
