Thirty Five Years of Madness

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I stumbled upon this artifact today:

Burrell was a genius. I’ve written about him before. I see him at least once a week. Sometimes he’s roaming around his messy lawn in ratty old jeans, using rusty shears to clumsily snip away at some of the weeds. Other times he might be walking to Whole Foods to buy one or two food items. Anything to get himself out in the world.

He’s a broken man. From what I understand, he’s held together by medication. Thirty-five years ago, he was a boy genius. An original member of the Macintosh team. Destined to become incredibly rich.

The line between genius and insanity is terribly thin. Whenever I see Burrell, I am struck by a simultaneous wave of admiration and despair. Had I been a genius once, I would fear this as my future. But I do anyway.

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