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Insanity for the Senses (1 Viewer)

The Death

Senior Member
A short essay on insanity. Please reply.


Martyrs of the Mind
Even as we slip slowly into the blissful insanity of the grand and wondrous mind, we often foolishly believe that we can climb out of, or be rescued quickly from, this endless pit. What the fearful do not realize is that if they would only explore their own minds, then they could discover the dark rooms that hold thoughts, echo the past, see the present, and retain hope for the future. Instead, these poor souls flee such revelation. As a result they quickly spiral downward into the abyss of apathy. For this reason, they dig endlessly into their pockets, pulling out memories and fears, the chewed gum and lint that fill their past to give to doctors, psychiatrists, and other so called experts.
Throughout the course of our pathetic human history we have tried to escape these journeys of the mind, which actually help to save us. Dreams run swiftly through our usually small minds, showing the deepest, darkest thoughts, feelings, and fears. Of course, at the sight of a family reunion, most would awaken immediately from this nightmare of immense proportions.
A few brave souls, though, would dream on. These martyrs of the mind, as I have so named them for their sacrifice of sanity, dare to see those things that others push away. Fire may burn them, water may drown them, their cheeks may be endlessly pinched by the elderly, but they choose to stay and in doing so, choose the path of fearlessness. These brave souls daily delve deeper into the endless recesses of the mind. I say daily, of course, because these courageous few use valuable time valiantly sleeping in English class or on a bench because an old Jamaican man won’t stop talking about a piece of bread he has and continuously asking, “Who will take the first bite?” in such a pathetic manner that you can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or if he’s just really hungry. Therefore, they sleep. For these sacrifices, men and women alike will undertake the journeys that make them, shape them, and give them deeper meaning. These people are like putty before the mind (though their squeezeable softness does not apply to physical traits, so it is improbable that they will have a third arm attached or fifteen eyes, unless of course they are exposed to radiation, then of course they can call themselves names such as Spiderfella, The Arm, or perhaps the Triple Nostril of Pain, but putty just the same). “There are no limits for journeys of the mind.”
 
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