The reason you cannot walk into traffic is that you can’t do anything. Your body does things and you follow along.
Go to your window. Lean your whole body out. You cannot. On a highway, spin your wheel to the left. You cannot. Gather your children. Tell them you despise them. You cannot.
I am not like you. I am not the slave of my nervous system. I am its master the way the sun masters the moon.
I wasn’t always like this. I was a slave like you until I hit my head. Inhibitions fell away like weights I had never realized were there and I began to fulfill my real potential.
“He has a head injury! I can dismiss him! I need not contend with his ideas!” This is how an idiot thinks. You must contend with my ideas because I will you to.
I have taken up a practice in my basement. I tap the head just right, like a sculptor. Men leave me enlightened, masters of themselves.
Whatever part of the brain is to blame, Adam did not have it. Of that I am certain. It might not even be grey matter at all, but rather a parasite, a chip, an implant designed to enslave. It may have been Eve’s doing. It may have been God’s punishment for eating the apple. No matter. There is nothing in the world immune to my hammer.
I tell you this in confidence. I hope you will find me and let me make you my brother. But know this: if you call the police, I will find you and I will take my tools to you without artistry or reserve.
But I know you will not because I will you to not.
I could if i was in the story