The Off Switch

An intrinsically inherit flaw in that wonderfully functional device know as a brain leads to what my own overdriven logic can merely perceive in theoretically wishing, an off switch, pause button, holding pattern or otherwise phrased in perpetually polite terms ‘SHUT MY FUCKING BRAIN DOWN FOR A FUCKING SECOND’. The ability to suspend the aggravating persistent drumming of over thinking, hold the mark on where obsessive need for insight contorts into insanity by any other curse.

  • My perversely selective guilty conscience labours deep that heightened blade of falsely, or not, (thus the problem!) culpability that pollutes otherwise simple selfish intent.
  • Cursay the course of hyper sensitive deliberations of what the most infinitesimal microbe of a thing could mean to expansionistic caverns of uncertainty, to levels where even those deliberations are picked apart.
  • Loathingly insulting depreciation of ones faulted character taints to fatality any judgment process to a point of sanity massacring proliferation, in other words you’re shit and it’s your bloody fault regardless of the facts.
  • ‘How it’ll play out?’ takes on new complexity and endlessly damning range as only the most narcissistic of loathing colours doom into every fibre of potential, fabric of possible realities a strangling net of self design.

All these and more…

Oh yay, oh yay

Who lives with that as a norm and doesn’t merrily hop skip and jump into the madly beckoning rabbit hole of where it leads?

I envy the mundane for all the blissful lacking of depth required in their decision making when I’m evaluating invisible strands of infuriatingly deep logic that I, the ‘intellect’ of stupidity, has to satisfy to move forward. And I haven’t even mentioned the black hole of anxious energy to both precede and follow an event.

So I ask you; where is the off switch? Other than a bullet or a razor to silence forever the continually twisting of my thinking with fatally ending results.



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