Monday, 21 February 2011


I'm not an intelligent person. I know intelligent people. Their minds are like powerful engines. Mine is two-stroke at best, but it's unusual in a few respects.

I have loose gears in there, bright, polished gears, rootless, attached to nothing, spinning in perpetuity. This constant motion contributes nothing to the economy or the horsepower of the machine. They dazzle, spin, and like any mechanical mystery, they're capable of amusing intelligent, interested people, at least for a while.

Like a Newton's cradle, the novelty soon wears off. They defy any attempts I might make to harness them. When I try to marry their teeth with anything of utility, they fail.

Burroughs wrote about a man who taught his asshole to speak. "His whole abdomen would move up and down you dig farting out the words. It was unlike anything I ever heard." I've heard that this was a political point. I think it's about cultivating yourself in a vacuum. Outside of a school or a job. It's as indeterminable as teaching your asshole to speak, and eventually, those asshole second-order thoughts BECOME you. It's scary and pointless.

Never, ever try to be an autodidact. You may as well teach your asshole to speak. It's like Mister Miyagi said, you do Karate yes, good. You do Karate no, okay. You do karate 'guess so?' WHAM. Stay in school, kids.

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