As the vehicle picked up speed, the packet of tissue that I placed on the floor of the truck came to life. The individual sheets took off and spiraled round, below the ceiling, above the floor. With each orbit, they gathered momentum and rose to greater heights.

As they approaches the sides of the truck, they were swept back by the currents drawn to fill in the vacuum left by the speeding truck; somewhat reminiscent of our very own thoughts, trapped by convention, fear or limits of our imagination; yet still given to an illusion of free will. For minutes, sheets fluttered about, held in by three invisible curtains of wind, seemingly free yet unable to escape.

Then suddenly one of the sheets spun too far to the side and whipped by the currents, it sped past (relatively speaking) the truck and into a distance, gaining greater heights and freedom.

Sometimes, we call such runaway thoughts: day dreams; other times: sudden bouts of inspiration; and other times, dependent on the subject: madness; genius or stupidity. But these thoughts could very well be what allows us to be free and to be human.

But often, socially, we call such deviance of thought: illegal.