In the chess game of intellectual discourse, I am eleven moves ahead, dancing around the board of life while others are still fumbling with their pawns, blind to the grandeur of my strategic acumen.

To converse with me is to engage with a leviathan of cognition, plunging fearlessly into abyssal depths where the pressure of my insights could crush the unprepared psyche like an eggshell.


My mental acuity is not just a tool; it's an artist's palette, a spectrum of genius with which I paint broad strokes across the canvas of existence, a masterpiece misunderstood in its own time.