<p>There is&nbsp;an&nbsp;infinitesimal space between everything that appears to touch, where what wells up from within meets that, that creeps in from without. It is in that vast space that the membrane of our consciousness is stretched. Our surface tension. All about, thoughts crackle and thunder with inherent gravity - too many to count, each one furiously forking off into possibility, where all that was and ever has been collides with all that ever might be and in that instance - that moment of entangled clarity, we are all and everything everywhere. The patterns fizz with apparent life, blinding, ominous - high above and deep, deep down below in a swirling vortex, and from all around right through to your core and back again; there - on the very cusp of sentience where we grasp longingly for sanity surrounded by monsters of our own making; comes a voice. Your voice. Your secret self... the true, mad, you. Beyond&nbsp;that animated creature of meat and sinew shocked into locomotion by the photon rich environment of&nbsp;colour&nbsp;and shape and matter, that membrane vibrates - and those thoughts merge with the cosmos itself to majestically dissolve into dreams. There - and only there are we our true selves, that essence of all that we are; a singularity of existence that vibrates and slips, powerless to resist into quantum foam. Into heaven, or hell. Was there a glint of recognition and fear in the eyes of our evolutionary kith and kin, those others for whom a burgeoning sentience propelled them, back then when the developmental branch saw us all become true racists in our genocidal blood lust and rapidly emerging fetish for violence as we wiped them all out? Homo Sapiens. The secret of speech was to be ours alone. What wells up from within is the same for us now: the animal must be suppressed. How far removed we think we are, from our animal brethren in our splendid cloak of&nbsp;civilisation&nbsp;and our notions of God, even though the very fabric of all that we are is the same; the patterns, sequences and dynamic flow of our mind boggling numbers all vibrating together to become reality, and at the crest of which we endeavor; flailing and incompetent,&nbsp;to reach&nbsp;for some semblance of reason - though we willingly seek, in an unseemly scramble; to share our insanities and herd together with any others who&#39;s personal hell is populated by similar monsters to our own. And all that merely to confirm our bias and add weight to what we choose to believe about our fetishes for ourselves and the universe around us; in order to create and maintain the very necessary bolsters the ego requires to animate the flesh it occupies and radiate identity. It is in such a state we drift through the collective falsehood of what we describe as life in shared hysteria, mired in our self perception and shackled to our neurotic need for acceptance; obsequious to the&nbsp;murmurations&nbsp;of our&nbsp;favoured&nbsp;collective will and ingratiating ourselves towards the hive mind and the hierarchy . Yes, we are all quite mad when we are alone, but never more insane than with others of our own kind atop a blazing chariot of psyche propelled forward at the break-neck speed of time itself by a snarling team of one&#39;s very own daemons, that we kid ourselves into thinking are under the whip, but might at any moment turn and devour us. We are all the same, each and every one of us; a quivering mass of our own insecurities, our fears, lusts and petty jealousies, our primal, base, animal urges with only the merest veneer of&nbsp;civilisation&nbsp;to spare our collective blushes. I choose to be alone - and I know I am, by now; quite mad indeed, but I shall take my solitary madness over your collective insanity.</p>

Mad and Alone

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