Irony (specifically the kind where I’m hampered by the very traits I accuse others of harboring) bursts from the surface of reality, entangling me with insubstantial tentacles that solidify and strengthen as I struggle harder and harder, with ever increasing zealotry.  The only way to free myself is to dive deep deep DEEP into the depths of awareness, an undying ocean where (even though it could be argued that this is where irony originates from) is a place of serene quiet, a place that has no rooms for tentacles, monsters—and, of course—no room whatsoever for any kind of prison…

Aside from the one I choose for the sheer fun of it.