It’s Too Late for Me to Become a Genius (to be enriched eternally)

Writing in the last few days of my year of age 24.

With upbringing, environmental opportunities and intelligence entangled, becoming a genius is never a totally autodidact thing. As human’s brain activity reaches its zenith at around the age of 23, me, becoming 25 in a few days, has apparently no longer the opportunity of explode my lights as a genius.

I find how geniuses are geniuses interesting, and have been thinking about assemble a list of the geniuses and their blooming for a short while.

Reading a travel-adventure book’s Romanian section, I noticed the radical fascist Emil Cioran, did a quick Wiki, found out that this Romanian died in Paris and was buried in Montparnasse… 10 minutes away from me. I don’t applaud his ideas, but I’m greatly intrigued by this man’s eccentric style and genius. Finding out he published his first work in 23, I realised the perfect moment to start my list.

• Emil Cioran — On the Heights of Despair, 1934, 23 yo.
• Alfred Jarry — Ubu Roi, 1896, 23 yo.
• Kurt Gödel — Gödel’s incompleteness theorem, 1931, 25 yo.
• Salvador Dalí — Un chien andalou (avec Buñuel), Le jeu lugubre, 1929, 25 yo.