I'm a savant. Or, more specifically, a megasavant. You can guess what that means. It's like, you've got dinosaurs and then you've got T Rex. You want to get eaten, drop me a line. No, I'm not on email. You have to find me a different way. And if you ever figure out how, you are a fucking genius.
If they wrote an article about me − and they never will, because I won't allow them to − the media is a circus without end − they would probably write a headline like this: "Woman With I.Q. Higher than Rain Man's Emerges from the Mists of Modern History."
But the term "I.Q." is meaningless in Rain Man's case. The real Rain Man, a man named Kim Peek, who Dustin Hoffman's character was based on, had an I.Q. of 87. He was just a plain dumb fuck, as far as standard testing goes. But standard testing is like the media: stupid, stupid, stupid.
There's so much stupidity in the world that you could really just divide the world into two parts. If you're doing a pie chart, there's 99.99999% stupid and then there's a little thin slice of me. I'm not bragging, I'm just telling you that that sweet pumpkin pie you're used to eating every day − well, you haven't gotten to me yet. Get ready for a taste explosion: spicy. Mega-spicy.
I see through the universe to fractal patterns beneath. I can see the Golden Section in your body. Every time you move and even when you don't move, I see the nautilus shell spiral.
I won't tell you what else I see, because you'd be embarrassed: not at your nakedness, but at your beauty. If you knew how beautiful you are . . . holy fuck, I mean, there would be only bliss on Earth.
[ if you see everything living through a fractal lens, then you would see beauty continously - arclein ]
But we can't see ourselves, can we? And when I say "we" I mean you. I can see myself, and I am beautiful. I'm in a wheelchair, and I'm thinner than Stephen Hawking, ha ha, but the fractal patterns wind through me just like they do through Stephen and just like they do through you. When I look at myself in a mirror, all I see is beauty. The spirals are moving, they are colorful, they are dancing.
Speaking of movement, there is no speed-of-light barrier. There are superluminal currents between galaxies . . . Space itself is variably superluminal − Sorry: "superluminal" means "faster than the speed of light." There are currents of energy running between galaxies literally hundreds of times faster than the speed of light. Space itself is a packed with raging torrents of energy − in fact, that's what space is − and galaxies and suns and planets are merely vortexes in those chaotic rivers of energy. We, all life, are tiny vortexes within planetary vortexes.
I don't see myself as a teacher, but school has not told you the truth. Einstein was wrong. I'm right. So I'm giving you the lowdown as best I can. But whether or not you intellectually understand what I understand is irrelevant. You'll never see it like I do, and that's the only way to really understand it. There was no Big Bang. The superluminal rivers have always been there. They just loop and loop and loop, always changing, always creating, always destroying, always running, running, running.
Nikola Tesla was the only other person who knew what I know. I would like to talk to him. I would like to have a dance with Tesla. I can see it now. He would pick me up out of my wheelchair take me around the room in a slow, dignified waltz, whispering sweet scientific nothings in my ear. He wouldn't care that I was a skeleton with a head too large for my body. He wouldn't care that he was talking nonsense in the ear of a skeleton, because he had finally found his equal, his match, his love.
I can feel his warm whispers in my ear now. I can hear him say: "I renounced all women, not because they were physical distractions but because they were mental morons. Fools! But you, you, I cannot help loving, because you know, as I do, the secrets of the universe." And we would dance and dance and dance. And my heart would beat so loudly that the boom would be felt in every corner of the universe.
The boom metaphor is just poetic nonsense. I'm a scientist. The universe is not holographic, so if my heart did beat loudly in Tesla's arms, it would not be heard instantly across the universe. And even if it were heard instantly, who would hear it and who would care? There is no god. The only thing close to a divine power is the superluminal energy moving from here to there, raging rivers of inconceivably powerful energy (inconceivable even to me), invisible to human sight − but there, very much there − unconscious, unthinking, uncaring.
Tesla knew the universe didn't care about him. He was alone and he knew he was alone. Now I'm alone. If only we had lived in the same swirl of the vortex of time, we could have joined our strength. We could have survived. We could have figured out a way to become the superluminal energy that courses between galaxies − instead of dying in the static vortex that humans call Earth but which is in fact a vortex of time. We could have become immortal together.
Oh, if only he would come to me now. That's my project, to raise Tesla out of the vortex of time, to release him from his whirling grave, to bring him into my arms to dance with me forever.
So, no, I won't respond if you try to contact me with your silly problems. You will never find a way to interview me or photograph me so all the world can feel sorry for me because I'm in a wheelchair. No. You will never see me, you will never touch me, you will never slow me down.