I have always had the suspicion that my mind hides behind doorways in houses and rooms.

Long I have held convictions that seem like machines in the form of ideas. It is as though the mind finds safe haven in a single thought it always returns to, fleeing, finding comfort or honing its home whether subconsciously or actively.

It might even be something unpronounceable or hidden in unawareness and I have discovered that enough analysis on my mind somehow loosened this singular thought from being.

By now I have no idea what it was, yet it was a black thought which plagued me.

I am curious as to why thoughts need to have names and need to be spelled correctly in order to function. Furthermore, why is it that my mind jumps to precisely the correct conclusion? The result always makes sense – as if this bio-pc has nowhere else to go but into correct.

Lying on my couch I ponder on the mystery of the possibilities this provides – how great would things be if every thought the mind ever thinks is a safe haven? If every ideal has no other option but to yield a pinnacle that is also liveable?

Has my evolution thwarted itself into greatness or am merely I the vane one that thinks so highly of himself…

Either way or another way I am in awe as to what a sentient body can produce.