Smart

The issue of Smart has come up a lot in conversation lately – whether I’m participating or just eavesdropping. What’s happening out there is that the smarties talk about what they know and exhale higher learning onto listeners/hearers who either join in on all the unprotected referencing OR! get wildly intimidated. Both scenarios – shall we say – blow.

I think I was misinformed about how to act when I’m among the learnED. Usually what I do is acknowledge their shrewdness, listen and *if* I find it interesting, well then, awesome. If not, then…then that’s the end of that… ‘cause I’m learnED too, I believe. However it’s come to my understanding that having this attitude is clearly not the way to live a life. According to the handbook, when I’m around a person smarter than me, I’m supposed to cut off all my hair and rake the veins in my forearms until I bleed out my entire ancestry. And with the remaining strength I may or may not have, hand-cuff myself to a piece of heavy furniture that won’t move easiliy when pushed.

What I don’t like; what I can’t understand; what is worth sacrificing a human over is the smart person’s mmmmmneed to talk about the stuff he/she knows. This whoristic action makes them immediately dumb in my head. Congratulations, you’ve become a Knowing Things Whore, a term I made up a while ago that I from time to time even use on my own relatives. Uh, sorry. But if those people MUST be around other Smarties who only breath knowing-things oxygen to feel of higher ilk, then allow me to guess the 3 to 4 other places in hhhhwhich you’re lacking.

And there’s another thing and I don’t really know how to phrase this. I guess I’ll just give it a tr__ I’M BRILLIANT. Maybe I’m stupid for staying so quiet and not whipping it out all the time. I remember once a classmate from my second college found out where I went to school before, and they were full-abbergasted and his/her view of me changed for the next four years. Not that you should care what people think, but I meannnnnnnn that day I realized how UNinteresting I *could’ve* been in his/her eyes had I not shown my peacock feathers. Had I not flapped that name in that person’s face – the kind of prostitution that’s still legal. (My corner of honesty: It’s hard to know when to flap and when not to flap. I’m not a flapper. It’s not in my nature. Sometimes I stupidly think it’s more rewarding to not be one. Unless you’re at Gatsby’s house. That one’s not meant to wow you, Gatsby’s *required* reading.) And you can still be smart and strongly dislike Jane Austen. I do it frequently.

Remember those college student nodders? They were EVERYWHERE. I found ‘em at both colleges. They’d rock those necks whenever the professor gave insight on things he was trained to already know more about. The slow nod, that kinda,” Yes, Mr. Corduroy. Make me as good as you cause that’s all I know and trust. Rape me with your intellect (just don’t rape me.) Make me a winner and good, super-good and do it NOW. I’m serious and haven’t blinked in the last five minutes. Open the gates to your snobby-whorecraft world which I’ve already eaten my third human to get into”

The sad part of abstaining from radiating Smart every goddamn minute is that people never really know how astute you are. (But that’s ok, I think, right? ’Cause in the end who cares?) Unless you HAVE to talk about your favorite author as if you grew up next door to him/her or you HAVE talk about that secret, artsy music that only gets played by three musicians in a closet in Finland ’cause otherwise? You’re just a person who does normal person stuff. How boring. Sad that THAT’S all it really is.

The nodding… you learn better when I keep my neck steady.

And sorry kids, there’s Asshole everywhere.

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