Each of us comes across certain thinkers who put into words things that people think and want to hear, but are either unable to articulate or unwilling to admit to. Most of the time as these thoughts penetrate our sleeping mind we believe the author has stolen them from our own private menagerie of twisted being, not realizing that thought, all thought, is a collective enterprise; and, in the moment we realize that another has already thought our thoughts, articulated the form of our mental dementia, clarified the desperation of our dark transports then, and only then, do we realize we do not exist. Only thought exists, and it exists without us or our miserabilist opinions to the contrary. We even begin to hate the one who awakened us to reality, to our own reality; this emptied vastation we call our lives. Failure is the sum of this realization: that another has lived out the thoughts we could not attempt nor invent for ourselves.
We are not the sum of our thoughts, we are only the shadows of other’s inventions.
Dr. Rinaldi's Horror Cabinet 
And I thought I could be depressing!!
Damned deep stuff a a real thought turner, much respect and congrats
“Every new idea is a shadow of an old one
Merely how we bring it to be and voice we gift it
Defines if our variation will be the ‘old one’
That the next in the chain quotes as inspiration”
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