I wonder if you will ever call into one of my comment boxes?

Androgoth Xx

Since I have been pondering the Theory of Idiots recently, perhaps this would be helpful. A cow, for example, is not too clever, thus, we do not expect much profound to be produced by her regarding solid state physics. Yet at the same time, we do not refer to her as an idiot either. Lack of intelligence is not what makes an idiot. What makes an idiot is the usage of intelligence to further destructive or foolish behavior. In fact the capacity for idiocy is in proportion to intelligence.

The trouble I have with Looney’s blog, and I probably shouldn’t admit to this in public: I don’t know how to take him, or rather what he says. He reminds me of going to an art gallery or a Stockhausen concert – and you don’t quite get it. You wonder if the artist’s intention is all ironic and you are the idiot, or whether it’s ironic and you are not an idiot, or whether it’s not ironic at all and you are still an idiot. As long as you make the right noises no one cares.

I am so confused now that when earlier I read his header as: “We are Christ’s Tools” or some such, only to rub my eyes when I realised he says “we are Christ’s Fools”. Kierkegaard used to do this to me.

Thing is if it were all about the bible and Matthew etc. then it wouldn’t be ironic, would it. But all that sprinkled with Plato and Socrates – the mind boggles. Or rather I jingle. I don’t like to be shown up as a no hoper particularly since I studied Plato till my gums bled. In Greece. My then boyfriend read it in the English translation, I in German. And what a holiday that was. We argued non stop. Not least because I felt as guilty as hell just having broken up with my first husband (I was only 22, and that age you do take life seriously) and, worse, I was weaning myself off a serious nicotine habit. My doctor later advised me to do one thing at a time in future. Advice I have been trying to heed since. And whilst we were sitting on one the most gorgeous island in the middle of the Aegaeis there was a dearth of fish. So add all that up: No fish, no cigarettes, guilt ridden, sun burnt, Plato, lots of Ouzo. Now Looney brings it all flooding back.

U

However, the endearing thing that Looney, already saddled by himself with being a barnacle, thanked me for inviting him to embark on the ark but, declaring himself not the most social of beings, said he’d come along for the ride provided he could stay on the outside. Later we explored the fact that barnacles glue their heads to the spot, loyall and forever. So are pretty static. Immoveable. Neither can they shake their heads. See, Magpie, thus fairy tales and Aesop’s fables are spun. Actually will take up the yarn again. Have to find original post(s) and comments first.

Anyway you are our treasurer. In charge of dung (elephant’s and cow’s) amiably kept company by the currently rather quiet beetle.

U

If YOU can’t make a comment then his post isn’t meant for comments.

Link is in my post. Do go easy though. The man deserves better than us shrieking at him like, I don’t know: Seagulls?

Anyway: Cave Canem (that’s: Beware Jean). She is very fond (as am I) of the barnacle. Her last comment to me over at Ramana’s, so succinct: “Ursula, it is fun to see you raise to the bait.” Beauty. Followed by one of those ghastly smilies as if that would make it better to be kicked in the shin. There is no doubt about it, BHB: Forget that Jean, by her own assertion, was a dog in a previous life: She most certainly would have a lot of “fun” keeping a cat. They too do raise to the bait. Particularly if the bait is a mouse. Or maybe fly fishing would be more Jean’s thing. I myself prefer being given an answer rather than grappling with shadows in the mist (that’s my rather poetic interpretation of Jean’s evasiveness. When it becomes uncomfortable for her she slips through your fingers like water through a sieve).

Anyway, BHB, do check out the barnacle. Even if you are stumped for words he is most educational, not to say unsettling – and that’s what counts.

U