Am I an idiot dreaming he's a genius?, W. wonders, or – this is unlikely – a genius dreaming he's an idiot? He looks for signs of genius in my idiocy, but sees nothing but idiocy. – 'Your idiocy runs all the way down', W. says.
But sometimes he thinks he finds cunning there, at the heart of my idiocy. A kind of idiot strategy. Am I preparing myself for the end? Is something preparing itself in me? Am I the rat, or the cockroach who will thrive after the catastrophe?
I know my time hasn't come, that's what W. believes. I'm waiting, he says, or something in me is waiting.
Lars Iyer's Blog 