InsaneJournal

Current mood:	cold
Entry tags:	l

Entry #C-10: "Crystalize"


[audio recording]

He is the sole survivor of his life.
Engulfed in chaos, he alone
Had the strength, the courage, the presence of mind to find
Himself,
To lead the blind away from the carnage of his folly .

He swung out of the fire on gossamer threads,
When they snapped, he floated into their arms.
A refugee whose own world self-destructed
Stumbled into their cage,
Not knowing himself from Noah, no one...

Is it true that while some people
Who can barely tie their shoes
Turn out to be brilliant at something like art,
Or music, or seem to understand children better
Than anyone with a perfectly shaped brain,
While they struggle to balance difficulty with genius,
The geniuses cope with their own minds,
Lightbulbs that flare too quickly to last,
Fires that burn all their kindling too fast
And have nothing left to satiate their deepest desire
To learn, to live, to keep alive the fire.

the rare genius, with nowhere left to turn,
With nothing left to burn.
Doesn't stop, but pushes onwards
Out of the bounds
Of what our world calls sanity.
He realizes, too late, that the flames
Have gone far away,
Licking at gunpowder stores.
in a moment, the lightbulb is shattered,
the delicate, wise flame of knowledge
Violently ruptures the mind of he who cherished it most.
The flames lick around his ankles, the sadistic arachnids
Lick around his neck, taunting him while slowly cutting off his fingers
One by one,
While all the world around him sees
Is
The former genius,
Prodigy,
Hope for humanity,
Rocking in a corner, mumbling words that no one understands,
Sobbing and cradling unmaimed hands.
And all he can say when they lead him away
With fluttering, intact fingers, trying desperately to
Speak without words of the viruses, the bugs, the spiders
That have invaded the renowned machine of his mind.

White coats, once subjects of scorn and contempt,
Tell him, with
Obscure frankness,
sharp bluntness,
Cruel compassion,
That he needs to stay here for some time.
That's fine, he says, I'll help you.
I know myself better than anyone, you know.
NO
You're a patient, for now...
How long?
BE patient!
Spiders have spinerets...
I think they wrapped my fingers
In silk
Or bandages, and hid them someplace I can't reach.
Maybe the cookie jar? I need them,
So I can continue
My work,
My calling,
My servitude
To mankind.
Condenscending smiles. Teeth like the bars
Sneering through his window,
Letting in the sunshine and small memories of life,
But not even a taste of the bliss of freedom.
Even the fresh breeze that slips through the iron
Is tainted by the thorns of captivity.