Staring at a white, featureless ceiling. White noise, ambience, a lack of resolution. Looking inwardly.
Detached, analytical, logical. An enigmatic machine, gears turning silently below the surface. Playfully abstracting; constantly churning out visions. Encrypted signals in a haze of static; multiple levels of meaning. Internalizing, integrating, extrapolating. Weaving reason and emotion together; elegantly transforming perceptions into dreams.
I see myself as a spark in the fabric of reality, a pattern struggling hopelessly against entropy. A union of order and chaos searching purposefully for truth. Looking outwardly.
When I'm walking down a city street, I try to pretend I'm not alone. I try to forget about chemicals, and that atoms explode. Experience as much as possible. Ignore base rates. Question the known, accept the unknown. Read between the lines. Write between the lines. Live according to reason, not commandment. Take risks. Define beauty for myself. Act freely, morally and without regret. Write vaguely coherent introductions in an insomnious fugue.
I can move forward, backward and side to side.