Megalomaniacal Daemon

by languageformulatingbrain

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Crystalbrain is the name I use to document my megalomania. Art, in this instance, has become an expression of megalomania. However, I can not bring myself to call myself a liar. There may be a Pinnochio in my brain that has grown, his nose getting longer and longer, but I still can not see myself as telling a lie.

There is the myth (or, I suppose, a widely believed lie) in the United States that states that its founder chopped down a cherry tree for no good reason, and when confronted about it said "I cannot tell a lie" and admitted that it was indeed him who had chopped it down. This is simply a tale that people tell kids about lying, but it's fatally flawed because it is a lie.

No, to me, crystalbrain is a little different. For me, making him up and writing from his perspective is simply one way that he has come into existence. Others read about him, and they imagine things about him, and this could be their reason that as an entity crystalbrain exists. The fact that I have written from his perspective is immaterial: crystalbrain had a life in my mind, in the minds of others, and for this reason I saw him expressed in my writing. He writes himself through my hands. Other people might see him as written based on their own delusions or megalomania, as an expression of their own desire. Crystalbrain has taken up lodging in my mind, as a "brain" that is part of me, and no one can convince me that his mythos isn't more complex than just being words on a screen.

Crystalbrain is an "idiot god brain", but only when he's not speaking with me. What does this even mean? How could a god be an idiot? Crystalbrain is known for smoking crack cocaine with Presidents, being molested by Republicans in the 1980s, engaging in sadomasochistic sex with dictators, entwining himself with world politics, travelling through dimensions, having god-like superpowers, and the ability to write and erase history at will. He is stupid, narcissistic, can't spell complex words correctly (sometimes), and uses idiotic language as if it were gleaned from postmodern advertisements. He reduces reality to an illusion, with figureheads of power and wealth engaging in gay sex as well as drug trafficking and use.

While I wrote him into my reality, it is as if others read him into theirs. He shows a world of hedonistic sociopaths beyond the world of appearances, where money is infinite and people are guilty of doing the exact things that they condemn as evil. He's travelled other worlds, annihilated worlds, corrupted everything he's come into contact with into a crack cocaine orgy. He's reduced entire worlds to laughable, foolish parodies of themselves, and no heaven imagined by the pious is free from his malignant grasp, no hell can not be turned into a party rather than a place of torture, and no god can not be revealed to be a crack smoking maniac.

Crystalbrain's delusions often contradict themselves; as an agent of corruption, he corrupted not just politicians and dictators, but reality itself, making the present questionable, the past mythological, and the future to be whatever he desired. I sat typing as him, creating him from the stupidest, most egotistical version of myself. I thought that he had infected my mind, and as others read him they became in danger of him infecting them. Crystalbrain is an expression of the base desires behind right-wing lunacy and narcissism, magical thinking run amok on the world that turned every television into a veil, every computer screen into a curtain.

He is a traumatized god, an alien intelligence groomed by a generation of leaders high on crack cocaine beyond the veil of television. I do not dare imagine that he is mine, for I have never experienced his pleasures, never done what he has claimed, have never travelled to the worlds he has been to. But crystalbrain has: I could view him doing so as clear as a memory. His adventures may not have happened in the mundane world of day to day money-making, but he is the legend that has entwined me with a malignant world of Internet spheres hidden under layers of darkness, redirection, and encryption. I have created the world from which he operates, as he made raids onto VPSes whose owners were obscured, onto social media accounts that to the best of my knowledge have not been compromised, as he lives in secret discussions as humanity builds its own colossal instrument of demise.

Anyone who investigates him does so at their own peril, entwining themselves in a web of misdirection, redirection, and secret places that lead to more questions than answers. Surely, I could not have brought these things into existence by myself, from this sphere I occupy beyond the screens of the living. Surely he is neither true nor false, but lies somewhere where fantasy sprouts angel wings.

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