Incompetent died a long time ago. The Incompetents no longer exist as a well-defined guild. Specialization brought them to the fore in the name of a principle that I do not often share, and that it is better to know a lot about almost nothing than a little about most things. Those who claim to know these issues argue that technological and scientific evolution have made generalized knowledge impossible. Therefore, it is better to be a genius at using the number seven Allen key than to have a rough idea of how the washing machine drum works.
Back in yesterday’s world, the mechanic was a national institution, and there was Pepito at the corner bar, fixing clutch problems on 600s that made the home hallway look dirty and unclogging the pipes in the bathroom. and replaced the electric meter spikes: the closest thing one could get from the neighborhood’s universal experimenters to the portable Leonardo da Vinci of late Francoism. The mechanic was the man for everything; He was always alert, always on the lookout, and always the master of the solution. Pepito corrects this: let’s say no more.
Today, the closest thing Spain has to prehistoric incompetence is the radio and television talk show host, the syncretic pundit, who has a repertoire of moral tools for any topical topic: volcanic eruptions and the ins and outs of the Kremlin, the Islamic world. terrorism and Brent barrel prices, Real Madrid’s dressing room and Eurovision songs. No matter what you throw.
I get the impression that writers also belong to the universe of extinct wretches. From mechanics. We are a people who know very little about some things – except for ocean erudition – the warmth of the tongue, the recesses of the heart, literature here and there; but we ignore almost everything. But with our famous impunity and unlimited audacity, we write as if we had read them all, as if we had experienced them all, as if we had the answer to all human dilemmas. Writing, among many other things, is a safe way to appear wise. I am the authority on my documents. I shepherd my creatures. I solve my philosophical disasters with my own ontological system. And for the same price I will make you a sestina for the blue of your pupils.
True incompetence may be dead forever, but there is still hope for the human race to turn from time to time to us, the intermittent incompetence of literature.
Source: Informacion
Brandon Hall is an author at “Social Bites”. He is a cultural aficionado who writes about the latest news and developments in the world of art, literature, music, and more. With a passion for the arts and a deep understanding of cultural trends, Brandon provides engaging and thought-provoking articles that keep his readers informed and up-to-date on the latest happenings in the cultural world.