I went through my blog archive and found – among some other doubtful posts – a couple of texts referring to idiots. Since I lost some readers along the way and gained some courageous others, I thought it would be interesting to “test” their courage against one of my old posts. Between me and you: I strongly believe that half of my archived posts should be re-written according to standards of intelligibility different from my own (which easily range from pretentious obscurantism to frivolous witticism – only, but only because I like it like that). Until the day I decide whether or not this blog is worthy to be almost entirely rewritten, I think I should follow my extravagant need for documenting idiocy. This summer job of mine is something that both the intelligent and the ignorant can despise or admire, which makes it even more thrilling. So here we go:

There’s an enigmatic connection between stupidity and immorality. You knew it, didn’t you? And if you didn’t know it, you must have felt it.
It’s hard to admit openly (that is, without feeling strange or guilty) that stupidity often borders on evilness. But it’s true, for God’s sake! One might claim that Dostoevsky created the morally perfect man and called it “the idiot”. And, before that, Cervantes called it Quixote. But we are certainly not talking about Myshkin or windmills here. We are not talking about those very many subtle ways of turning morality into a wonderful (and absolutely necessary!) paradox. For more of these, just read the Bible.
We’re talking here about that feeble-minded man next door who lacks a perspective from which to start being (himself, with others etc.). So he cheats on his wife over and over again without really intending to harm her; he lies for his own good over and over again without really intending to be dishonest; he’s not sophisticatedly evil, but plainly lousy; he can’t place his deeds nowhere in the intricate chain of causes and effects; his notion of “consequence” is distorted, vague or inexistent.

The imbecile ignores or violates the rules – out of imbecility (one may call it unawareness), but also out of disinterest and lack of comprehensiveness. Not having an extensive mental range, he simply can’t see the point in doing things that contradicts or diminish his immediate well-being.

His non-programmatic approach of life makes him weak as an ant, stupid as a turkey, and abject as a despot. He’s not a “holy fool” unable to adjust to the versatile rules of society, but a base player who plays his way don’t matter how horrific his music sounds; after all, he has no sense of music, just an instinct for rhythm.
We can’t make much of this world without an exercised comprehensiveness. Kindness is comprehensive, dynamic, and very much aware of itself.

The dialectics of morality is more complicated than astrophysics. It’s an abyssal affair we often get lost in, but a guarantee that we haven’t quite fallen out of grace.

PS: I’ve been very disappointed to find out that milk lessens the health effects of the Earl Grey; and of every kind of tea, altogether. I’ve already distroyed my morning with a soy-milk based smoothie and now I’m having the worst tea time of my life ever. I’ll should really be going back to cow milking.

PS2: I couldn’t let you navigate away from this page without introducing you to one of my most beloved songs: David Bowie, “After All” (from The Man Who Sold the World, 1970)

In my long and convulsive life as a blogger, I’ve had the opportunity to approach gracefully (and not so gracefully) many species of stupidity.

Some say I shouldn’t have written about it. Moreover, some say I shouldn’t have written about anything at all. My on line presence as a whole is basically puzzling to many people who know me personally. I got friends telling me I ain’t meant to blog, blogging will spoil my “image” etc. And perhaps they’re right, what do I know? Or how should I know? Maybe I should first learn how to properly care about it. So far I haven’t heard one single vigorous reason against online spreading of my (or anyone’s) reflections on stupidity. If each and every person you know would make an effort to circumscribe one or two sorts of stupidity, we’ll live in a better world.

Some things annoy us only because they whirl round and round confusingly in our heads, without being formulated as distinct statements. Once said or written, they become “tamed”, easily manageable, or even harmless. Some other things are rock-hard certain, and taken for granted as such, but once formulated, they become problematic, irritating, urgent. There are, on the whole, lots of “issues” we come across on a daily basis. And apparently none of them seem “hot”.  Writing a book about such daily little annoying things – unless you have a Balzacian talent for observation and a Dostoevskian talent for psychology – is slightly ridiculous and somehow arrogant. But, for instance, knowing how (and why) we are supposed to approach everyday idiocy should be on everyone’s agenda; unless we enjoy being the victims of n+1 imbeciles who try, day after day after day, to take over our lives.

And all these  should be done not for the sake of “high culture”, but for the sake of our living existential standards. Even if we don’t plan to write a book on idiocy or to give postdoc lectures on this  fascinating topic, we should still reserve our right to circumscribe it, challenge it, or complain about it. Around the kitchen table, on the phone, on Mondays, on line, on and on and on.

PS: Regina Spektor’s new album is growing on me in unexpected ways. Why haven’t I learned my Regina-lessons better? It happened just the same with all her previous releases. My favorite so far is “Genius Next Door”. Faultless, classic Regina!

PS2: The most beautiful flowers on earth could be seen in the picture above. If I could only know their name…

Until recently, for a number of circumstantial reasons, I have found it tremendously difficult to write about “circumstantial” idiots.

The truth is that I like “circumstantial” idiocy. I even find it seducing. But my conviction goes  further: there are certain circumstances where idiocy is not only lawful, but a proof of the natural limits of human nonchalance.

Acting or looking like a genuine idiot is the most meaningful  (yet accidental) “tribute” one can pay to those you feel attracted to or interested in. The more catastrophic your behavior, the truer, deeper, wilder your sympathy. It is in our human nature to mark our most intense, potentially glorious moments with a halo of plain, hopeless idiocy: from bizarre epithets and wrong grammar, going through unpardonable breaks and eccentric movements, all the way to self-overestimations (or underestimations…) and intolerable left-handed compliments. The range of getting wrong and silly is truly immense. I even suspect it’s infinite. However, unlike the “perennial” idiocy which is dense as a rock, the “circumstantial” idiocy is see-through.

The circumstantial idiot is always aware of going through an episode of idiocy, although unable to pull himself out of the mess he has fallen into. Just as I said in a previous post that a perennial idiot is enthusiastically, actively idiot, I would now say that a circumstantial idiot is desperately idiot. And if you can’t see through his desperate episode of idiocy, then you are probably not worthy of being the cause of anyone’s folly.

By any subtle standard I can imagine, the total lack of circumstantial idiocy is monstrous and suspect. A true measure of inhumanity.

PS: I just gave a first listening to Regina Spektor‘s new album Far (2009). It might be too much indigested pop  all through her latest tracks… I just don’t want to hear any Ting-Tings when putting a Regina record on, and I am certainly not looking forward to any Jeff Lynne involvement; I have my Tom Petty for that.

After a first listening, I couldn’t tell whether this album is better than the previous ones. Some would say this is catchier. Well, it does sound somehow catchy, but in an experimental way. I dare say Regina Spektor can’t deal with a pop hook. Once she sings it, she kills it. Her strength resides in her highly analytical,  personal and intellectual ways of approaching popular music and once you hear a catchy tune coming out of her mouth, you can notice it,  bookmark it, but never establish an emotional connection to it. She’s just not made for sing-along’s. Or for various forms of pop(ular) “degenerations”. I can’t decide right now whether this is the most dangerous or the most flattering thing one can do to pop music.

PS2: Today is a big day. I’ll start working at my novel again, after more than 4 months break. It feels…unsafe.

PS3: …and yet another favorite from my Top 3 Best Ice Creams to be seen in the picture.

By calling her an idiot, he’ll turn her into one. By calling him an idiot, she’ll turn him into two.

PS: The song of the day is Paolo Nutini‘s fresh single “Candy” from Sunny Side Up (2009).

Idiots are actively, enthusiastically idiots.

The schooled ones, for instance, vindicate their statuses as well-informed men (and women!) by talking loud and a lot. As a rule, they talk sports,  trends, entertainment and sexist subtleties. They also love to exchange illogical arguments and relaunch clichés about life, health, and politics.

For the most part, they are vocal and critical about everything and everybody. However, when confronted with alterity, they remain perplexed. “The Otherness” leaves them in a (short but tragic ) state of stunned, frustrated speechlessness. Once they overcome the initial difficulties, they have no other purpose than nullifying the  painful difference between them and “the other”. For this very purpose, they show some teeth and muscles. They laugh, they threaten, they bark, sniff, fawn, drool, snarl, yelp, bite. They’ll do literally everything that’s humanly and doggingly possible to affirm their status as qualified holders of  power and knowledge.

Once you’re surrounded, you can not escape their pressure. And you know why?  Because one is not stupid enough if not malevolent enough. Actively, enthusiastically malevolence makes a dummy grow into a fully stupid man; into someone who aggressively plucks you out of yourself and puts you in the shoes of his victim, because he insistently asks you the wrong questions until you end up playing a part that has never been yours, because he  instinctively RE-organizes YOU in a manner that suits his goals, because he turns you into an “erroneous something”, into a kaleidoscopic monstrosity with indistinct opinions and weak arguments,  into someone saying no” when meaning “yes”, and “yes” when meaning “no”, into someone who has no longer access to his or her essential concerns, into someone who can safely be called a bleeding, pitiful prey. There’s no other victim more worthy of pity than the victim of an idiot. Trust me with this.

PS: Unexpectedly great jogging session yesterday evening. Classic lake with classic sunset (see the picture), a classic Donovan singing his classic “Sand and Foam” in the iPod – all in all, a strangely clichéd summer evening one should experience once in a while, resisting the temptation for taking an ironic distance from what can be called an “estival feel”.  Wait. I found Donovan’s “Sand and Foam” on YouTube. Should one  really resist it, I wonder?

..an idiot is he (or she) who lacks the two “C”: curiosity and creativity?

PS: Re-re-reading Montherlant’s tetralogy. Always a treat. Always a threat. Under the given circumstances, I couldn’t think of other song except this: Squeeze, “Is That Love?” acoustic version.

Lately, forced by contingencies beyond my will and control, I’ve spent a fair amount of time thinking about idiots. Who are they? Where do they come from? Why so many? Why so mighty?

In the latest century we’ve come to have an increased tolerance to all kinds of idiocy. As long as it’s politically correct and you don’t hurt others, you can be as idiot as you please. Obviously, we hardly talk about idiocy these days; which proves nothing except its tremendous importance. I decided to share my thoughts on idiots and idiocy with you. Please allow me to turn it into an estival topic and  follow it all through the summer, because this is the season when  idiocy flourishes, nourished by UV rays,  salty water, lethargy of the mind, lack of labour, excess of  hormones, muscle t-shirts, and flip flops.

A couple of days ago, being constrained to talk to an idiot, I’ve had the hardest time of my life EVER. Not only that he thought he was wise, but he has demanded that I give him and his stunningly inane ideas full credit. He wanted me to listen, learn, and follow. Like all idiots (as we learn from Erasmus of Rotterdam) he liked to flatter himself and speak ill of others. He was talkative and cheerful, teasing and cheeky, a living mine of old sayings, a proud carrier of prestigious diplomas in the most obscure fields ever imagined by our late modern academic institutions, a walking proof of the worldwide success of incultivation and arrogance. One thing I’ve learned from his glorious ways of commenting things he never heard of: the more reaction, the less reflection. And not a damn sense of knowledge; or of humor.

PS: The absolute song of the day is The Kinks’ “Dead End Street”. Try to beat this with a more recent tune! You can’t.

PS2: Favorite ice cream in the picture above. In case you wonder.