A Toast to the Thinkers

A Toast to the Thinkers

The world is a scary place for thoughtful people. So much going on, so much to dwell on. I look in the mirror, I see reflections of reflections... where is the real me?
An ignorant person looks in the mirror, they see their reflection, shave and head off to work. I see my reflection and contemplate the world and my place in it.
How come I can't believe in the conclusions my mind reaches? I realise that on the whole we have become too clever for our own good and try to make sense out of something that ultimately doesn't make sense. Essentially we are nothing more than lions on the prairie really. We sleep, we eat, we have sex and reproduce. The only differences being; we have tarmacced the prairie so we can drive cars along it; eat with knives and forks; get so bored we screw for fun; and try to explain it all away through religion, science, alien forefathers or a warped combination of them all.

So how come I can't just accept this judgement and just get on with it all?
How come I still have to make sense of reflections within reflections?
How come I cannot find the original object which has duplicated itself over and over, spawning countless images?
How come I cannot locate the monolith that casts the shadow I seem to be living under?
In short, does the prototype I am based upon really exist or is it yet another reflection?
If I shattered all the mirrors would there be nothing left but smoke?
Would I in fact kill myself in the process, breaking myself into so many shards of reflective glass?

...Pass me the hammer.