Idiots

Are you a scholar, dreaming he’s an idiot, or an idiot who’s dreaming he’s as scholar?

Or an idiot who knows he is an idiot.

No one knows it – their idiocy. You can’t know it – it escapes you. The idiosyncrasies of your idiocy. It’s particularity. The way your idiocy is different to everyone else’s idiocy. Your idiocy is the most personal thing about you – did you know that? The most singular thing. The thing that really sets you apart. Much more than your so-called intelligence.

Intelligence is what makes you discern the latest thing you’re supposed o be going along with, that’s all. It makes you very good for sniffing the air. For sensing the opportunities. Seizing the main chance. Intelligence is what makes you move vey cleverly with the crowd.

 

No one ever accepts that they’re an idiot. No one calls themselves an idiot and means it. They think they’re smart enough to know their so called idiocy. As though they could outwit it. That they can master it, their own idiocy. And that they are therefore most assuredly not idiots.