when i was 18 i sat an IQ test. i never expected the results to be anything spectacular, but they were. 172. if this is correct it would make me more "intelligent" than leonarda di vinci and freidrich neitzsche. obviously it was a false result, probably brought on by my photographic memory, but i guess it effected me, it gave me the idea that i was special. that somewhere in my insignificant existence was a thread of latent potential, a lurking inner genius waiting to unveil itself. i quickly learned that such "genius", or whatever you would call it, is more a curse than a gift. potential is only a gift when its used. to let it rot like i have is to constantly pick an open wound. every day you are confronted by your lack of success. and it eats at you. if you let it, it will destroy you.
by the time alexander the great was 27 he had conquered 75% of the known world. yet at 23 i haven't even conquered myself. as someone living in the 21st century i shouldnt judge myself against the benchmark of someone from 2000bc. but he's the closest person to a god that i can find and the only one i respect enough to model myself on.
i wish i was better with words.
my mind is full of a hundred thousand colours, each mood and thought an obscure and subtle variation of the last. yet the only colours i can find in my words are black and white.
