The Intelligent People's Thread

I tell my friends that I am so curious that I am often interested in things that are beyond my ability to understand. One buddy asked me if that's why I got married

Oh, and I just have to repeat a famous quote

I AM SO SMART, I AM SO SMART ... S M R T ... DOH !
Homer Simpson on the dangers of public self aggrandissement .
Hey, what's that red line under aggrandissement ? I wonder what it means ...

Is it really true that Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie are planning a new reality show where they listen to Magma and discuss theoretical physics in Kobaïan?

Umm, if I changed my name to Mr Gumby in a rather intelligent way, then yes, he is here!

No, my brains doesn't hurt, my brain is so powerful that I psychokinetically made the bricks bash together, and my sheer intelligence enables me to harness power for my brain when I do such amazing things like bashing bricks togethers with pyschokinesis.

I've been thinking about bashing one brick together to achieve enlightenment. Nothing has happened yet.

Time for another discussion on testicles perhaps?

HughesJB4 wrote: Time for another discussion on testicles perhaps?

So, what's your favourite testicle?

Vompatti wrote: HughesJB4 wrote: Time for another discussion on testicles perhaps? So, what's your favourite testicle?

Vompatti wrote: I despise my testicles and have no interest in getting acquainted with other testicles. Testicles are just awful.

Now here's an intelligence-related question I've been wondering for ages:

What should I do to appear intelligent in front of the ladies? Let's imagine I just met someone I'd like to fall in love with me and I'm afraid I made a fool of myself by saying unintelligent things and not saying intelligent things. Should I:

a) Go find her and tell her I know this and that about Wittgenstein's late philosophy.
b) Go find her and tell her I know this and that about theoretical physics (even though I really don't).
c) Go find her, stare at her intensely and say nothing?
d) Forget about her and put on a Captain Beefheart record?

EDIT: I crossed out the d)-choise, because I already put on a Captain Beefheart record and I still can't forget her. Her big brown eyes are like doors to a kingdom of divine balance, her elegantly shaped eyebrows a welcoming sign hanging above those doors and her pitch black hair a symmetrical arrangement of vines around those doors. Her face is like a magical mirror and on her soft red lips a great wisdom dwells.

Now that I think about it, I can't even remember if her lips were all that red. I can't even remember her name. Anyway, she's a lovely, lovely girl. A touch of her hand is like pure, ideal beauty materialized in a singly moment. Her steps on the pavement are like drops of rain in desert. Her movement is like a vision of the profound structure of the universe.

I also heard she likes Green Day.

I only wish I could remember her name. Maybe I should steal her wallet? Maybe it would be easier to hang around her and wait until someone calls her by her name. Love calls you by your name, isn't that a Leonard Cohen song? Sometimes my thoughts wander.

What if I will never see her again? Or even worse, what if I will see her several times and I still can't remember her name? I think it had five (5) letters, but I'm not sure. Anyway, it must have been a beautiful name for such a beautiful person. And intelligent too, and thus worth mentioning here. Worth mentioning, indeed! Worth a thousand mentions and more!

I crossed out the part about Green Day. Why? If she likes Green Day, they must be good, because she has a great taste in everything and her word is the Law. I've only heard one Green Day album, and I've got to admit I kind of liked it then. Maybe we could sit together in candlelight, hold hands, stare deep into each other's eyes and listen to Green Day? That's more than I could ask for. Yes, more than I could ask for in a very literal sense: I can't imagine myself asking for anything Green Day related (except for her, my dear Green Day fan). Maybe she's not even a fan, maybe she just kind of thinks they're ok. I guess I'll cross this part out too.

Oh, how will I ever be able to go on living without her by my side? My aching heart is about to shatter on this very keyboard and make a terrible mess for the police to investigate. Besides, laptops are very expensive to repair with pieces of internal organs on them. Laptops? All I need my lap is her perfect body (not her corpse).

Words cannot express what I feel for her. Words have no fixed referents. Reading Quine makes me sad. But not as sad as thinking about the love that I'm letting slip through my hands like some disgusting slimy substance.

"Oh where are you now, pussy willow that smiled on this leaf?" She smiled, yes - and what a delightful smile it was! - but she never smiled on me. That would have been strange. Anyway, I'm so happy she smiled at me. Maybe she didn't totally detest me. Maybe she could see the love in my eyes. Maybe...

I notice I'm drifting away from intelligence. For this I apologize. Drifting away like my love from me. Drifting far to the sea, far from my arms that represent the shore. I hope you know how to swim, sweetheart, for I never learned. I'm forever bound to the shore, but you are free! Swim, my love, swim to the sea, midst the fish and the water plants like a fair mermaid! Maybe I'll see you again once more. Maybe I'll remember your name. But for now I call you with a name so beautiful it cannot be expressed in words. The name I have for you is like one of those really long Indian names, or maybe the Japanese ones, that really mean something. Quine didn't mention these kind of names, but such a name I've got for you, and I'll hold it forever in my heart.

I walked to her like Kafka through green alleyways of stone. Leading her out was troublesome, I think she noticed it. I think I failed in her eyes, in her mind and her body. Her extraordinary body and even more extraordinary mind. Beautiful mind, like in the movie, except that I don't think she has imaginary friends. But if she does, I'm sure they're very nice.

This part is stupid, I'll cross it out.

I laughed with my loved one too. It concerned a certain imaginary cat. I'd rather not talk about it anymore, it was just a wonderful moment we shared and I'd like to leave it to that. I'm sure you'll understand. Usually I don't ever laugh in public. For that brief moment she made me appear as I'd like to be. That's one of the reasons I love her, and the rest are:

1. She's nice.
2. She's pretty.
3. She's both nice and pretty.

Amazing, huh?

We both made mistakes, but I think I made more. We all make mistakes sometimes. I guess that's why it didn't work out right away. Still, every now and then I could feel the 'click'. Like a remote control, but nothing like it. Nothing Like the Sun, isn't that a Sting album? He could make a sequel, Nothing Like the Remote Control. I'd buy it. There's this one Sting song I really love, Moon Over Bourbon Street. It's almost as beautiful as the girl I love. The girl I love hasn't got a long black wavy hair, but one of a perfect length (not short, but not very long) and it waves relatively little, which in a way reflects her permanence and position as the centre of the world (at least my world). I don't think the world is round, but at least it has some kind of a middle point, and she's it. She's totally it.

I wonder what she thinks about gambling and horses? Anyway I'm going to put some money on horses, and maybe I'll become a millionare and can buy a great mansion for me and my love. I'm sure she likes mansions, everyone likes mansions, and if she likes mansions she probably likes horses too, horses and gambling. Oh, how wonderful it is to finally find someone who's a perfect match for me! Together we can watch the horses race and together we'll cry over the money we lost on an unpredictable gallop. I wish Bukowski had forgotten about the booze and the women and only written about gambling. Now there's a book I'd love to read (if there was one).

Moment by moment, day by day your memory fades. Will I know you in eternity, when everything is one?

I haven't got a name for you, for I haven't picked you as an object. I've picked you as a subject. This means we are equal, and this means we're the same.

I wish I could communicate with her in my dreams. Here's a short list of the things I'd tell her:

1. She's the most amazing person I've ever met.
2. I'm so in love with her that I can't even stop thinking about her while listening to Captain Beefheart.
3. I wish all things were as beautiful as her.
4. I'm going to put money on horses to win some and buy a mansion for her.
5. When I become a professional writer, all of my works will reflect my endless love for her.
6. Now that I've seen the light, the sun doesn't hurt my eyes anymore.
7. I love her more than the Velvet Underground song "After Hours." And that's a LOT!

The Scorsese movie of the same name ("After Hours") is just like my life. It's one of the three things that are just like my life. The other two are:

1. The Trial by Franz Kafka
2. Every song Morrissey has ever written.

I didn't win at horses. What on earth should I do now? How can I face her and tell her I can't buy her a mansion after all? Will she ever love me? Where can I get some money, soon? Should I put all I have on horses? These are the kind of things I think about every day.


Edited by Vompatti - April 03 2008 at 13:43