Have we ever really reached it, our stupidity? Where we could really come into our stupidity. Own up to it. Inherit it.
Will we ever be able to inhabit it, our stupidity? Dwell in it.
Have we really been released into our stupidity?
Cicero herself was doubtless an agent of Stupidity, the greater Stupidity. Cicero’s Purpose was not her own. She, too, was a servant of forces beyond her control. She, like us, served Idiocy and the self-seeking of idiocy. Idiocy’s desire to come to itself. To breathe real breaths. To live, for a while in the world. To attain itself in the world. To be there, for a while, in the world.
An idiocy that had yet to arrive, in some sense. An idiocy that hadn’t met with itself. That didn’t coincide with itself.
An idiocy that had yet to look at itself in the mirror. That could bear its own gaze. That could look back at itself, reflected. That could say, I am idiocy, destroyer of worlds.
We haven’t seen it yet. We haven’t experienced it all yet. We haven’t got there yet. It’s still to come, the opening of our idiocy. It’s still ahead of us. We’re still waiting for it. We’ve yet to come into our own, as idiots.
Cicero’s waiting, too. Cicero’s excited. Cicero knows that it isn’t here yet, but that it will be. She’s waiting to see what we will do. She’s waiting to see what her charges will do, when idiocy arrives.
Idiocy Itself. Capital I, for Itself. Idiocy, arriving. Idiocy, coming. Idiocy, terrifying – great. Like an angel. Are there angels of idiocy?
And might there be another name for idiocy? Might it be, innocence? Is there such a thing as a divine idiocy? Is there a messianic idiocy? Is there an idiot messiah, a messiah of idiocy? Is idiocy arriving as the messiah, and as nothing other than the messiah?
Work in Progress 