A piece I wrote for my English Language A level

This monologue is loosely based on me, a person who realises the arrogancy of himself and so declares it so bluntly in the form of a monologue. Kind of a monologue within a monologue and I urge you to open your mind and try to visualise the concepts I introduce, here we go.


Monologue starts here:

This monologue is not meant to inspire, contradict or entertain; it is simply to display my feelings about myself. Perhaps it wonít make sense, maybe all you will read is a lot of utter and complete gibberish. But I want you to know that to me this is a portal to the inner-workings of my sober mind, in which I may find it hard to express myself, but this is how I feel, love it or hate it, these are my words. Thatís all they are, no matter what you feel, think or say, nothing can change them and thatís what makes them beautiful. Because you see itís not about what I write, itís not about what it contains, the very beauty of this is that I can say whatever I like, if I am completely and unhesitatingly confident in my words, and then nothing concerns you. The very beauty of writing is that every piece is beautiful, special. Although I am showing you this, it does not matter to me if you hate it, because it is mine and so it is beautiful to me.

Iím your average guy, about 5í11, 12 stone, slightly hefty build but as average and non-unique as the next guy. I guess thatís what makes me special though. Simply that I cannot accept this idea of being absolutely the same as everyone else, although this is the reality of the circumstances, the reality is not good enough for me. I will only accept more than I am and will never stop persisting to find out what I can be. Perhaps you are the same, but I doubt it, it may sound superficial or selfish to you, perhaps you think I am just like all the rest, a human, with the same natural optimism we all contain within us, but Iím sorry, because I refuse to accept that. It is the very concept of my being which tears me apart from all the rest, maybe youíre right, perhaps I will be nothing, and maybe in thirty years from now I will have achieved nothing more than mere survival. But thatís not reality to me, what makes me unique... Special, if you will, is that my fantasy is more than a dream; my fantasy can be my reality if I want it to be. It can be the very fibres that hold my life tightly together in a strange incomprehensible inter-twining of what is real and what is not. That is what makes me special; I donít care if you disagree with my perceptions. Thus if you feel offended by this... I know you, I know the type of person you are, how you see yourself and most importantly who you aspire to be, for you have failed to notice that this is a monologue, and I didnít once ask for your opinion. Thatís the person I am, a deeply perplexed cache of the truth and the lie. Take for example: the lies we tell ourselves that ďeverything is going to be okayĒ in tough or dangerous situations, when really we know that we are incapable of completely reassuring ourselves of the outcome. But itís this very quality in a human being that I see as my gift, as I find comfort in the things that are not. I find comfort in things that are untrue or unreal; I do this because the world we live in is not good enough, nor am I sure it will ever be good enough. But the tools we behold such as our minds capacity to delude our view of things to reassure ourselves that ďeverything is going to be okayĒ is a beautiful tool indeed. A tool in which we can use to distort what is real into what is not, in which we trust not to allow our heads to drop or our backs to slump. A tool we can trust to pick us up, using the very idea of falseness. With this, we can make our world anything we like and as beautiful as we desire, and that, is what I live for.

Now I'm going to bed, night DD