I’m a “we” trapped as a “me.” I’m a significant other laboring as a person without a partner. I’m a rational being expressing as irrational. I’m a sane person experiencing insanity. I’m a god represented as a human. I’m a Catholic Buddhist trapped in an atheist’s belief system. I’m a 21-year-old janitor trapped in middle-aged unemployment. I’m a singularity thinking in dualities. I’m an organic rock perceived as a human being by other organic rocks who perceive themselves as human beings. I’m the fish I caught when I was a child. I’m coherence eviscerated by contradiction.

If I had 24 joints in each leg, I’d take 36-foot steps and jump 96 feet into the air. I was supposed to develop telekinesis during puberty, but only strong enough to roll a pencil six inches across a flat surface. I have more than 100 different senses condensed into five. I would have the eyes of a fly if I lived to be 150 years old, but I’m scheduled to die at 85.

Humanity in the 21st century is fragmented and confused. People have separated themselves from reality through entertainment, news, and technology. Some are dulled yet mesmerized by flashing lights and loud noises while being isolated from one another. Online gossip has replaced the physicality of relationships. The passage of time is distorted by the speed of electronics; self is distorted by digital presentations of identity. Purposes and meanings have been lost in a sinkhole of empty promises and useless platitudes.

Many believe that anything is possible, but they’ve seen too many YouTube videos and read too many tweets to distinguish between hyperbole and truth. Conflict is constant. Down deep, there is a sense of foreboding, fear and loathing, insecurity and distrust. On the surface, though, yoga will save us all.

In the 21st century there is only NOW and “now” turns out to be a teen pop star. It would be fine if it was hedonism; at least there would be pleasure. Instead, people act more like they’re experiencing psychic root canals even when they get what they want. They nauseate themselves in the salacious as if they were rotted teeth soaking in sugar.

There are a few vagabonds and wanderers left, living the wild in the wilds of physical society. The rest have replaced persons with ideas of persons which is much easier to do with an iPhone than an abacus. There’s no use complaining about it, although complaining about it is a form of participation in the horrifying emptiness of unnoticed monologues.