W. has fears that the more he teaches me, the more he guides my career – if it can be called a career – I risk losing precisely what drew W. to me in the first place. What drew him to me, fascinated, even as it also allotted W. – or so he believes – his great task. Yes, I risk losing the spectacular ignorance with which everything I say, or think, or read, or write, is suffused …
How can W. maintain it, how can be encourage it, foster it – the opposite of everything he tires to teach me, but simultaneously the reason why, in the first place, he took me on with the aim of teaching me? Thankfully, my spectacular ignorance keeps breaking through the crust of my new learning, the crust of my supposed intellectual aptitude. My spectacular ignorance – which is not just the opposite of knowledge, but the destruction of knowledge, its constant, laughing mockery. My spectacular ignorance, which is not just a matter of the head, but a matter of the entire body, a matter of the smallest gesture, a matter of the grotesque non-shoes I wear on my feet, a matter of my continual complaints of the stomach …
Lars Iyer's Blog 