Mad and Alone

We are all quite mad when we are alone, without exception.

- Tamsin Sutherland

There is an infinitesimal space between everything that appears to touch, where what wells up from within meets that, that creeps in from without. It is in that vast space that the membrane of our consciousness is stretched. Our surface tension. All about, thoughts crackle and thunder with inherent gravity - too many to count, each one furiously forking off into possibility, where all that was and ever has been collides with all that ever might be and in that instance - that moment of entangled clarity, we are all and everything everywhere. The patterns fizz with apparent life, blinding, ominous - high above and deep, deep down below in a swirling vortex, and from all around right through to your core and back again; there - on the very cusp of sentience where we grasp longingly for sanity surrounded by monsters of our own making; comes a voice. Your voice. Your secret self... the true, mad, you. Beyond that animated creature of meat and sinew shocked into locomotion by the photon rich environment of colour and shape and matter, that membrane vibrates - and those thoughts merge with th