do you think about what really matters in your life?
Since leaving home, I've become a traveler. A migrant. Like so many others, I'm being thrown into a Cuisinart mixer of ideas, concepts, views, personalities, religions, and cults. Looking in the mirror every morning, I see a torrent of confusion, mediocrity, and neurosis.
Allow me to explain: When I say neurosis, I mean that affliction of the mind whereby a person simply does not know. Like an electric motor on an insufficient battery, my mind hums and warbles ineffectually.
In that silver glass, where once I beheld a fierce, adamant idealist, there is now a conformist without a cause. My own Wesley Gibson in my head.
An ignorant man has the blessing of mobility. He may move about his mind freely, globbing together idea with idea, trying through this wild alchemy to create something cogent--something solid. An academic is imprisoned in his knowledge. His world is closing in. He pushes to obtain new thoughts like one would press against a wall of hard rubber--trying to rupture it. Ever the while, conflicting views and opinions hum about his head like hundreds of mayflies. But once he breaks into the next chamber of thought, relief like a gale refreshes him for the next encounter. the next struggle.
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