Curtains or Brain wave overload

The voices scream and howl, as thoughts are scattered like pieces of a glass on a wooden floor. The answers I seek are behind the curtains of white noise. A shadow appears that I think I recognize, but cannot quite recall. With confidence I claim I know what it is, but proof I cannot provide - the proof is behind those curtains.
All the arguments are here in front of me, wriggling on my desk, gleaming like a ray of light from a prism. They are busy in a ritual and each has its tail in the head of the other. I cannot tell them apart. I cannot use them to tell the truth. I cannot see behind those curtains.
aaah... But it is a great relief to have the belief that my thoughts follow a pattern of socratic reasoning. I may not be able to prove it to you, because the proof is behind those curtains, and you cannot even see them.
And sometimes an idea raises its head and the gail blows fluttering the curtains out of the way, and I can gaze across to the horizon for a dew drop like moment.
Everything becomes clear, and the fog disappears before the breath becomes stale again and the white noise cover my ears and eyes, and I dumbfoundedly stare at the mating ideas.