Unspoken Soliloquies

Does every one of us human beings possess a fatal flaw? A hideous dark stain that spills onto the pristine surface of our conscience? Is there a single innate cog in my persona destined only to wreak havoc on my human life? If so, what is it?

These convoluted myriads of questions I ache to know the answers to are intimidating and vast. So I write until my hands ache, feasting on literature and art until ink runs down the corners of my mouth and drips down my chin. Ever since I could remember I have delved into the obscure labyrinth that is my mind…yet I still have not come to truly understand. 

You see, I don’t require the surface level understanding that is simple to obtain: definitely not the kind that professors teach in schools until the curse of their duty robs both teacher and student of every last crumb of interest. I dream of endless realms of knowledge, whose immense glory I can only hope to catch a glimpse of before the untimely hour of my death! The questions I need answered have no answers, yet millions upon millions of different interpretations.

These questions, theories and streams of consciousness make up the essence of my mind’s labyrinth. They come forth as dialogues, conversations I have with my own conscience, with characters who are the fruit of centuries of art, to try to make sense of the inner workings of humanity, society, beauty.

However, unless these ideas are carved out, moulded, shaped into something of my own creation, all they will ever be is incomplete fragments of my own wisdom, impeding them from ever giving rise to coherent interpretations of life’s absurdities and complexities.

So I scrawl away madly in the hopes that some of my questions may be answered by the time the last word has been inked upon the page. If humans really do have a fatal flaw, mine is not a metaphorical blemish that tarnishes my existence. My hamartia is curiosity, and it takes the form of a puppeteer grabbing hold of my mind and pulling strings, dictating the course of my thoughts, and transforming them into these convoluted monologues, destined to go unspoken