Alien Minds in 22600

It wasn’t long after I fell in love with math. I had just found out about this weird thing called abstract algebra and understood how the different sizes of infinity can be used to prove things about Turing machines. My urge to create caught up with the news and pretty soon, I wanted to create something just as exotic. I was exposed to more and more pieces of exotic math in class, so eventually, I started to develop a “taste”. I was trying to create math of my own, but an idea that was easy enough rarely came, and when they did, it was rubbish.
I know that’s normal in the early stages of developing creativity, but I was going into math and starting from scratch (at least with creativity, every child in a developed country is forced to get up to letter-shunting algebra or somewhere around there) when I was composing music in my own style just months before, so I longed to create something less rubbish and reached out for another mind different from my own in the hopes of getting fresh ideas and feedback on my own ideas.
Unfortunately, I was in high school, so everyone around me cared about nothing but grades and rejected me for being delusional. I was so lonely; it seemed that no one had the fiery, Romantic passion that I had for creative math, that Berlioz had for music…
I observed the people around me and saw someone who seems to be as passionate as I am. He was a writer too, so he must be familiar with creativity.
He was always surrounded by his group of friends, so I tried talking to him on Facebook, but he never replied. I posted something funny on his timeline to get his attention. It implied that one day when he asks a professor for a recommendation letter to a PhD program, he’ll be called a big fat ugly boy and asked to get out of the office or be killed. The emotionless text-to-speech voices make it even funnier.
He blocked me for harassment. That was completely unexpected. If anyone did the same to me, or even if that actually happens between me and a professor, I would laugh. It was as if I waved hello to an alien and told him to molest his children without meaning to do so.
On Friday, I saw him on the bus alone. That was another chance for me to crawl out of my sad, lonely pit of stale, useless ideas (because I’m not skilled enough to come up with useful ones!). But never mind, I’ll just harass him again without meaning to, and besides, he probably can’t even come up with ideas at all (he told me that he writes non-fiction, so I’m starting to have doubts…), if he’s the kind of person who feels harassed by the drop of a hat.