 Journal: 
-------------------------------------------Mood: The Usualto be a minor genius is to rarely be understood, appreciated, or accepted as such. we fall between the crack formed by the masses and the massive geniuses. we are difficult to recognize, even to each other. i am unlikely to believe you if you tell me that you are one too. our rarity is astounding, our genius hard to pin. the few with whom we divulge our "secret" on late nights or trying times will usually make us regret the moment's indiscretion. we are the targets of discredit, not envied but ridiculed. we are lonelier than the moon that circles the earth alone for eons in the times that we are played down as eccentric, weird, lacking common sense, or too sure of ourselves.
in this way we may come to disregard ourselves just as everyone else has. we may waste our talents on conformtiy so as to escape the crack in which we lie; we may hate ourselves for not being able to take that step onto the plateau of the einsteins, von neumanns, or comparably fantastic ilk. every error is magnified by ourselves and others into proof against the suggestion of genius.
our experience and perspective morphs our heartbeat and breath and the world around us into an invisible forcefield against which we beat our heads and hearts and loved ones until the absurdity of it all breaks us down to acquiescence, to suicide.
it is fortunate that our instincts make triggers so hard to pull when barrels our pointed to our temples. in spite of it all, our genius is no less powerful or capable of the creation of beauty or a fulfilling depth of joy. our station in the crack is a gift that is difficult to harness, a greased pig running wild and far.
we cannot giveup the chase: everything knwon to humanity tastes better when wrapped in bacon and cooked on a hot grill....Created 2009-04-08 03:05:20 |
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