Define Unoriginal

*So some lame friend read my work and then, after saying it was good, asking if I had something original...
First, ouch. Second...well, no I'm not that mean to cast you away. But you better watch it kid.
Anyway, to show how 'original' I can be, I will now compose off the top of my head...

The bass keeps pounding through my brain. I'm not sure if I want it to stop or to go on. I like the rhythm; it keeps me on track, keeps me focused, and I find it easy to work to. But at the same time, it's jarring, and I want to curl up and cover my head so it doesn't explode from the pulsing, pulsing, pulsing...that's just what I've done, I realize, as I find myself on the floor, sheet pulled over my head--why did I think that was substantial enough to block it out? But even as I block it, I embrace it. There's a certain calmness, a certain numbing quality that I desire to sink into. Just forget the world, flow with the music that doesn't quite exist; it's just the rhythm and nothing else. And yet, even as I sink, I feel myself floating above it. There's a certain point where I find myself throbbing not just with the rhythm, but with the desire to actually do something. And there's so many things I can do. Get up off the floor for one. But always in time, keeping tempo, don't speed, don't slow, just move. And somehow it's almost easy. Any other day I'd be stuck, and unfocused, but now with the bass...I can concentrate on what I want, what I need, what I have to do. I may still be jarred from the vibrations, but I'm finding myself inside them, and I'm embracing the sudden freedom the beat brings. Perhaps I'll do something worthwhile, as long as I can work to this sound, just keep it playing, press repeat and let it go on and on and on...only suddenly it stops. There's a stillness in the air now, and something's creeping up on me, something I forgot when I was inside the bass. I feel out of sync, confused, and I'm not quite sure what it is that I was doing before. Turning around, making myself dizzy, I stop on a dime at the picture on the wall, and it all comes rushing back. And I've returned to the floor where I started from, and I only hope the bass will start up again.