The Most Fearsome Thing

...is the enemy unseen.

I sit here at the computer wanting to write about the crazy. I feel like, if I could just describe a bit of the anxiety, put a name to the unknown, maybe that could weaken its hold on me; not a lot, just a little. Just enough to let me breathe. But, nooooo. I am frozen at the keyboard. All I want is to bleed the voices out of me - just a little - so that maybe tomorrow will be a little easier than today. But I don't know where to start.

And now, I come back to this screen  after almost 20 minutes of staring at NBA 2K14 and no new words have magically appeared. Imagine that.

So I focus on my irritation. I focus on (what I perceive to be) the obstacle that so deftly, so expertly, so intimately keeps me from writing. Calling that obstacle "voices" was just... uninspired. Complacent, if we're being honest, because I don't really have voices in my head. "Voices" is a cop-out. "Voices" is me being lazy.  The only actual voice in my head is mine. I know how many there are - one - and I know whose it is - mine.

That's not the problem.

Here's the problem.

Voices in your head, no matter how many there are or who they sound like, are not constrained by the restrictions of the physical body. Space and linear timelines are anachronisms in the realm of head-voices. Just because there is only one voice doesn't mean there aren't a million tracks of that one voice all playing at different speeds and volumes, reflecting a million different moods and voicing a million different opinions. Just because there is only one voice and it happens to be yours doesn't mean you can trust it.

Hell. Just because there is only one voice and it happens to be yours doesn't even guarantee that you can understand what it's saying. With a million different tracks playing simultaneously at different speeds and volumes while concurrently sampling a million different moods and proclaiming a million different opinions, the end result is a cacophonous clamor. A discordant drumming. A raucous racket.

My own personal Tower of Babel.

There is some kind of pseudo-intellectual, faux-philosophy connection between the biblical story of Babel and my current state of insanity, but I can't quite verbalize it, at the moment.

Oh, but if I could.

The most fearsome thing is the enemy unseen.

True dat.

Hells to tha' yeah.

Fo'sheezy.



Daaaaarn tootin'.