Author's note: This is basically everything I think about at night turned into a creepy story.
Insanity and Insight“No great genius has ever existed without some touch of madness.” – Aristotle
(Insanity and Insight)
An institution… I’m still not sure if this was the best idea for a work environment considering my personality, but I’ve always been drawn to its peculiarities.
In movies, geniuses are always German scientists who invent teleporters, or really classy and attractive girls who wear glasses and say fake chemical names.
I don’t know, but that doesn’t seem right.
I’ve thought about it a lot, and I think intellect is more of a variable than people seem to think.
It’s more of a state-of-mind or point-of-view than anything else.
An idea, under the right circumstances and being observed by the right people, can herald in a new age of advances and create gods among men; but say it at the wrong time and to the wrong people, you get scorned, hospitalized, imprisoned, killed by the fictional complacency of medications and consultations.
Some humans have been just slightly incorrectly wired, and they see the world differently, possibly correctly. The masses cannot tolerate their cries of the end, they’d rather drown in more comfortable… more familiar scenarios. Unless the strange mind’s new thing happens to benefit them without upheaving them, they stifle them, classify them, and categorize their problems.
The line between brilliance and madness is thin and wobbly at best.
I do not know if I am either, both, or neither...
But I have seen it. I do not fear it. I am beginning to understand what has driven many a man to death.
I see men walk the line every day. Dark and light, dark and light, back and forth like some cerebral tango. I’m drawn to it. They fascinate me. I cannot fathom them, but I try to sympathize and always listen. They know things: secrets, mysteries, horrors. They’ve changed me.
I, the councilor, have been changed by the inmates at this, the asylum.