Mnemonic Cholera

I am not old. I am ancient. My body is a very reasonable thirty seven years old, give or take the replacement of atoms and the time I spent in the womb. My mind, is other than that. I have been sentient to a varying degree for those thirty seven years previously mentioned. But through story, I have expanded the scale and scope of my mind like a blossoming fractal rose. My mind expands forward and backward in time. My mind grows towards possible consequences and sees alternate paths that never were and many that never will be. My mind, driven by knowledge encoded in story, and urged forward by a driving curiosity, is an eldritch abomination- a thing beyond space and time that reaches out towards the heat death of the universe and the earliest rumblings of the big bang and ties them together and then casts them apart. My mind is a monster god and a forgiving angel. My mind is a visionary and a tyrant. My mind is a child and a lunatic, a messiah and an untouchable.

Why do I say this? Not to brag. My mind overflows, my brain often insufficient to contain it. I create art, I pour my mind onto the page. I see and I rant and rail and write and draw, in a desperate attempt to get some of my mind out of my brain and relieve the pressure. But there is another pressure: the pressure to learn more.

And it gets too much, and its hard to hold it all alone. And so I need to share it. Like mnemoic cholera, transmitable and prone to cause those infected to expell the infected contents themselves. Charming, certainly.