Am I a Genius or an Insect?

 

If you constantly think you are a genius or an insect, 

you will eventually become a genius or an insect ... [1]  

 

 

I.

 

In a sense, torpedo the ark means that nothing is off limits and I would like to think that I have the necessary courage required to address all questions candidly, both as a lover of poppies and as one who knows the secret of their redness [2].   

 

What does that mean? 

 

It means that as a blogger who playfully positions himself midway between poet and philosopher, I hope to do more than merely reinforce the dogma (and doxa) of the present, even if that means going largely unread by one's own age and brings little or no advantage. 

 

 

II.

 

Schopenhauer would say this makes me a genius; i.e., one motivated not by hopes of fame, fortune, or even pleasure - for the effort involved in constantly producing and publishing posts almost always outweighs the satisfaction - but by an instinct that impels creative expression, even when living in less than ideal circumstances (exile, isolation, poverty, etc.) [3]. 

 

And, who knows, peut-être que je suis une sorte de génie! 

 

I certainly blog without regard for reward, applause, or sympathy and live more in the past and future, neglectful of my own well-being in the actual present. Although this perhaps makes me merely a kind of human insect who "desposits its eggs where it knows they will one day find life and nourishment, and dies contented" [4].  

  

 

Notes

 

[1] This is a modified quote attributed to the Spanish surrealist Salvador Dalí. The close up picture of a longhorn beetle (on a modified red background) is by the Indonesian wildlife photographer Yudy Sauw. For more of his images, see The Guardian (21 July 2014): click here.  

 

[2] See the post entitled 'Little Hell Flames' (29 May 2021): click here. 

      I'm thinking also of something that Schopenhauer wrote: "The poet can be compared with one who presents flowers, the philosopher with one who presents their essence." See Essays and Aphorisms, selected and trans. R. J. Hollingdale (Penguin Books, 1970), p. 118.  

 

[2] See Schopenhauer, Essays and Aphorisms ... pp. 131-32.   

 

[3] Ibid. p. 132. 

 

 

In Sickness and in Greater Health (Or Something I Need to Get Off My Chest)

First I had a flu-like virus that left me with a dry ticklish cough and a dry stuffy nose. This mutated into a chest infection, for which I was prescribed anti-biotics. This left my bronchial system so inflamed and hypersensitive, that it triggered some form of asthmatic reaction. 

So now I've been told to suck on an inhaler and puff away up to four times a day, like a real fucking invalid. Masculine pride (or what women often term stubborn stupidity) dictates that I ignore medical advice. But a tight chest and inability to breathe properly gradually erodes all virtue; indeed, what else is sickness ultimately other than a loss of dignity?  

On a positive note, the dry ticklish cough has gone. Unfortunately, the nasal congestion continues; this despite repeatedly shoving a Vicks inhaler up my nose. If Nietzsche is right and human genius resides in the nostrils, then I've subjected my creative intelligence to a huge quantity of menthol, camphor and Siberian pine needle oil during the last weeks.

Hopefully, this might make my thinking clear and cool (though I doubt it). What it has done is make me much more sympathetic to D. H. Lawrence and Gilles Deleuze who suffered terribly with their chests and often experienced breathing difficulties (not that I'm equating my condition with theirs, both of whom had tuberculosis).        

It's no wonder that both authors seemed to be so obsessed with fresh air and subscribed to a vitalist philosophy built upon the Nietzschean notion of die große Gesundheit - "a new health, stronger, more seasoned, tougher, more audacious, and gayer than any previous health".

This sounds nice. But it's important to know that such a health grows out of sickness and is in fact an affirmation of the latter.  

See: Nietzsche, The Gay Science, trans. Walter Kaufmann, (Vintage Books, 1974), Section 382. 

Note: Lawrence eventually coughed and spat his way out of this mortal life on 2 March, 1930, aged just 44. Deleuze committed suicide on 4 November 1995 after his chronic respiratory condition(s) became increasingly severe and even writing became difficult.  

In Defence of the Great White Male

Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington, 

Great White Male and one of the 

Founders of King's College London (1829) 

As I'm not a Doctor Who fan, the fact that the 13th actor chosen to play the role of the irritating Time Lord is a woman - Jodie Whittaker - doesn't greatly interest or concern me.

If obliged to comment, then I suppose I can't think of any good reason why he shouldn't regenerate in female form and, indeed, rather like the idea of a transsexual and transracial Doctor to whom all identities remain open as fluid possibilities. Michael Jackson, once rumoured to be in line to star as the Doctor in a big-screen version of the BBC TV drama, would have been ideally cast.

Most of the criticism aimed at Ms. Whittaker from fans of the show seems to be rooted in tedious, rather old-fashioned sexism and deeply unpleasant misogyny. Unfortunately, they'll just have to get used to the fact that as times change, so too do fictional characters evolve and sometimes radically transform. Indeed, readers of Marvel comics have long become accustomed to this phenomenon ...

Thus, for example, following the death of pale-faced Peter Parker, Spiderman became the superhero identity of Miles Morales, a young man of Afro-Hispanic origin. There's also a black Captain America (Isiah Bradley) and a totally awesome new Hulk who happens to be Korean (Amadeus Cho). In addition, Ms. Marvel is now no longer busty, blonde-haired Carol Danvers; she is, rather, Kamala Khan, a teenage Muslim of Pakistani origin. Oh, and Thor, the god of thunder, is now a woman too - just like Doctor Who! 

Again, this push for greater diversity - driven by the wish to establish a new and broader fanbase in order to sell more comics and thus make more money, rather than political correctness - doesn't really trouble me. In fact, if anything, I find it mildly amusing.

But what does concern me, however, is when the attempt to denigrate all that is male and pale as stale, isn't being played out in the queer world of sci-fi and superheroes, but within academia ...

Thus, the decision by King's College London to replace portraits of its founding fathers with a wall of diversity in order that today's student body doesn't feel intimidated, is, I think, deeply depressing and disappointing.      

For whilst it's one thing for contemporary culture to reflect the Volkerchaos of modern British society, it's quite another thing to try and launder history or erase the past. This is not just foolish, it's also slightly sinister - not to mention patronising towards those it's trying to protect from the inconvenient truth that whilst blacks have soul and women their intuition, only great white males have genius ...