Been pondering my hot and cold sides again lately.

I think the problem is that there are no role models for people like me. Fictional characters are usually more easy to categorize. You don’t usually see people like me with both enormous intelligence and enormous sensitivity, and when you do, they are almost always psychopathic villains like Dexter or Hannibal Lecter, or a snake of a con man, or a corporate shark like Lex Luthor. It seems that in the world of fiction, you cannot be a good, sane, caring person if you are like me. Perhaps that speaks more to people’s fear of high IQ people than anything else. If you are more powerful than them, they will fear you.

And not without good reason, because you could be an enormous threat to them.

And it’s not just IQ plus sensitivity. There is something more to me, something to do with my relentless seeking of the truth and the powerful mental tools I have developed to aid in that search. I’m not just bright, I am a visionary, one who can see. I can see right through to the very heart of things, and read secret truths like they were written across the sky.

And I don’t always know when I am doing that. I have a poor sense of the difference between what is obvious to me and what is obvious to others. I try to be cautious and circumspect, but even on my best days, I think people can sense the brutal machinery running under the hood. I have been told I project intense intelligence, and I suppose I do. I certainly do nothing to hide it.

I’m just lucky that I have some charm and wit and warmth to me. Which brings us to my hot circuit, my warm side.

Apart from my brutal truth machine (totally have to use that as the name of my first industrial album), I am a sweet guy. Perhaps that is what makes things so awkward. It would probably be easier to be either a very sweet and caring person of normal IQ, or a coldhearted prick with an enormous IQ.

Hence the villain stuff, I suppose.

But I refuse to pick one or the other, so I am stuck trying to figure out what to call someone who is half stainless steel assassin and half warm cuddly teddy bear.

Plus there’s the whole gender issue. Honestly, I don’t know what the fuck I am. The price of being unique, I suppose. You have to make up who you are because there is nobody else like you. You can’t take your identity from anything or anyone else. You are a one-off unit, one of a kind.

Sure would be nice to get some frigging hints from the world though. Maybe I should just decide I am the most amazing person in the world and dare the world to prove me wrong.

Tempting. But I am not sure I like where that seems to lead. Self-worship rarely leads to positive behaviours. When I just stick one toe over the threshold of that kind of identity, all I can see ahead is a far more callous, selfish, sarcastic me.

I’d become that prick of a guy that has always been within me. Id gone wild. Fuck everybody else, all I care about is whether I am having fun or not.

No thanks. If that is the alternative, I will stay meek and miserable. A person like that could do a lot of damage in the world. I will wait for a better dream of myself. One that includes all of me, not just my potential for egomaniacal prickishness.

So far, the best dream of myself is an expansive, jolly, happy person who radiates love and joy and who spreads sunshine and happiness wherever they go. Someone who uses their sensitivity and drive to make things better for people. Someone who is beloved by all who know them, and who creates a sort of community around them that is their primary tool for making things better for people. Make a life for myself dedicated to that community and its mission to make the world a kinder, gentler space.

But what of the brutal truth machine? Where does it fit into the picture?

It doesn’t, and the brutal truth is that the BTM is just as much a part of me as all the softer, gentler, easier to take, ready for the public parts of me. I have a mind like a machine and I can’t just turn it off without dying inside.

And because of it, I don’t see the world the same way other people do. That is the price to pay for being someone who doesn’t see the box. There is always a bit of a tug of war between my desire to be a sweet, nice person and my ruthless drive for the truth. You can’t be Mister Sunshine (or Mrs.) and keep on mentally slicing through absolutely anything that gets between you and the truth you seek.

Some of what you slice thought will be people’s carefully constructed protective illusions that are all that stand between them and the cold hard world, and that kind of wound takes a lot of time to heal. People build their entire sense of identity around such things, and you can do a lot of damage to people with a simple observation, no matter how innocent the intent.

When you are an isolated loner, you can indulge your BTM all you want. Nobody gets hurt because nobody has the slightest idea of what you are thinking or what you can see in them.

But when that isolation is broken and you are dealing with others, the best that you can hope for is that they can see that you mean no harm and are not trying to use anything against them.

I just have X-ray eyes and can see a lot more about people than what they let show on the surface.

I am just a robot with good intentions, I guess.

I will talk to you nice people tomorrow.