The Sunday Poem: How to be a Genius
This one merits an explanation in advance. š
I’ve spent a lot of my life around creative people. A lot of people dressed in black, long overcoats, occasional breakdowns (while I was the resident assistant for the creative arts floor, we “only” suffered through a few mental breakdowns, one drug-induced miscarriage, one fire, one suicide attempt, and a half-dozen alcohol poisonings…), and of course, talent.
I’ve also now gotten to know a few “guru” types — particularly from the world of SF (yes, Bruce, David, Cory, if you’re reading this, I mean you). There’s some patterns to be seen (and I hope they don’t take offence!). A habit of preparing and practicing good phrases to drop into conversation. A certain manner about them that combines a brilliant mind with a certain degree of performance — expansive gestures and a fired-up passion about whatever they happen to be talking about. Getting past that to get to know them can be a little tricky, actually.
Well, long ago, “The Imaginary Playmate Speaks” opened the door to a series that I called “the genius poems.” They were about an “invisible playmate” who was, in some ways, the dominant partner. Someone who had the qualities described above: the aspects of guru and of talent and of, yes, kook. Someone who was both right and also needed puncturing.
I wrote a hell of a lot of these; probably thirty or more. This one here is one of the more sarcastic ones.
Of course, by posting this, I am giving away all of my secrets, and now all of you can get as many speaking invites and interviews as you like!
How to be a Genius
The trick is in the talk, he told me.
Complete sentences.
Words that sounds learned, words
That choke a phrase like weeds.
The trick is in the way you walk.
He said to dress like an outsider.
Plaid scarves. Dark overcoats. A skirt even.
Black and blue. A hat tilted down over eyes.
Use specifics like salt, to garnish
What you argue for, but never against
An expert. Experts are bad.
They eat geniuses for lunch.
Have a quirk or two. Eat live mice.
He laughed.
What, I asked, don’t these work?
Yes, he said glumly.
I wrote that down with triple underline.
He tapped my notebook. Lastly, always
Tell people what to do. Most of them
Want to be told and will do it. Now go away.
And I put my stuff away and did.
8 Responses to “The Sunday Poem: How to be a Genius”
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Great sense of humor. I like it.
=)
Now I know why I’ll always be the fool.
So much for my speaking engagements.
I find that smart people who feel it is very important to demonstrate their intelligence at all turns and funny people for whom it is important to always be funny are alike. They are always “on” (“performing” is an apt word). It’s not a bad thing necessarily — though it obviously can be. I notice, however, that it can be a distraction sometimes … when the manner in which you speak becomes more important than what you are saying.
Good poem.
Of course, now you have to tell us whether this means we should think you are a genius or not…
Richard
It’s been my experience that experts kind of enjoy the company of geniuses, as long as the geniuses don’t touch any of the knobs and levers and don’t interfere with the revenue stream.
This description sounds about as well-suited to celebrity lawyers, preachers, politicians and stand-up comedians as it does to geniuses.
Good to hear from ya, Bruce!
I think lawyers, preachers, politicians, and stand-up comedians often give about as good an impression of genius as can be had. Part of the point of the poem is whether or not this really IS “genius” or not; how much of genius is spectacle, basically. š
If “genius” is “spirit”, then a moving and convincing performance, if possible looking as spontaneous as possible should probably meet the whole of the definition.
I always liked Neil Gaiman’s definition of genius – someone who is set at a slight angle to the world and therefore sees it in a way you don’t until it’s pointed out to you.
That wasn’t his exact phrase, of course. Neil is a bit of a genius with words. I just do code.