Write. Write a song, a poem, a letter, a story, a short story, a long story. And it's difficult to lose your mind now. There's a dodgy person that sits inside your head and talks down to you. You think about it, sometimes argue about it, but most times you're an outsider. You can only witness the rise and fall in history books, wondering what's it going to be then, eh, droogies?
Nothing. Everything is simply, plainly and nicely obscure. It's like being a plumber in a whorehouse. Perhaps it's The Tower.