Passionate Death

I was so ashamed of the original title [at one time] that I changed it to “Reflections.” What child of sixteen has such deep dark thoughts? And when I look back on those days [as a child prodigy] I know that even back then [late 60s] I had a sense of being hunted. When I presented this poem to my high school English teacher, she asked me who I had copied it from. My anger at such a question was immediate.

And with the brain damage inflicted on my babies by pediatricians, the circle was completed. I declined a free pass to medical school at the age of twenty-three because of the damage my toddler manifested. I can still see the complete shock [in my mind’s eye] on Professor Blumanktantz’s face at my declination. It actually reverberated through his body language but my only concern was my toddler. I suspect he had gone to great lengths to arrange it.

Sounds ridiculous, ey? Not so when you look at

Aldous Huxley

Bertrand Russell

And Edward Bernays

I always had a sense I would never be good enough—specifically, that my bloodlines held me back.

I could not, however, find any way to justify this brain of mine as being disposable. I endeavored to find a way to make myself useful to my fellow man. What my naïve mind did not know was that the darkest of dark minds would make sure those of us born into Red Zones would never, ever excel.

Let’s move on to: