the genius

quickly, a small note to say an incredibly large thankyou to the masses of people who in the last 72 hours have completely flooded the site with views! i'm overwhelmed by the positive response and amassing a great heap of gratitude. the positive messages from you all have been tear-worthy and i will try my best to give it back to you. i try to update the blog at least twice a week if i can, so do stay if you like what you read.

now-

what does it mean to be a genius, and have you ever seen one?

dearest reader, as per usual, acquire your chosen beverage of cup of tea/ cup of coffee/ pint of milk & perhaps some applewood smoked cheese and some crackers to accompany. settle yourself into bed or by an open window or on a step by the front door. turn your phone onto do not disturb, wedge the door shut, sit down. 

are you sitting comfortably? then      let's     begin.

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have you ever played a game of chess? those of you who haven't, i will give a brief overview so we are on the same page. a large checkerboard sits below several intricately crafted characters, all playing for two opposing teams. ivory & ebony. these players each have roles, and are almost exactly mirrored in structure across the board. a whole line of pawns are the first border for each team, and behind them sit the more crucial parts of the squadron. as is with most traditional games, the leading and most powerful roles go to the royalty, and our king and queen sit centrefold amongst the others, the main prominent "king" seeking to be protected by his surrounding kingdom. 

the first two accounts of a chess game were primarily translated from middle persian and sanskrit back in the seventh century, and the oldest known chess "bible" was written in arabic. in almost every language, the title and role of "king" remains identical in it's wording. mind you, this is the only piece who's value does not differ in other languages.

on the outer edge and guarding the perimeter lies what us brits have titled the "castle". in Indonesian it's better coined the "fortress"- this seems more paramount to it's nature, as our matronly castle can often be forgotten before introducing devastating blows. 

we move one place in and are met with what the armenians have simply put as "horse", though here & in the dead language of latin it is referred to as the "knight". moving only in L shapes, it can cover a fair space if necessary and can be quickly released during the open.

this knight sits beside the bishop. or in chinese, the elephant. or in danish, the runner. personally, i've always attached a fondness to the lowly bishop, whose movements can only ever be diagonal. when the game is won, a player who still has their bishop is awarded three points. it is poised, and to me it holds a clean-cut gravitas. 

i've won a few games of chess in my time. i do not say this to brag, please do not mistake me. i would doubt that many people who understood chess had not once won a game. the check-mate is an enjoyable feeling, and the accumulation of the opposition's pieces is an easy goal to become engrossed with. the middlegame, i have found, is where one truly becomes familiar with the pieces and their roles. naturally, the plan of attack is still priority, but the player builds an alignment between themself and their pieces. the endgame is where the battle is won.

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picture the chessboard in your mind. is it weighty? is it feather-light? are the tiles a stark black and white or more of a brown and beige? cardboard? varnished wood? felt? plastic? now picture the pawn. now the king. now the queen, the knight, the castle. are they solid and are they heavy? what quantifiable features are they aligned with- is the queen alluring and stalking, does the castle provide a hollow and gated presence, is the pawn a free-range kamikaze awaiting a near certain death? 

now picture the rook, dearest reader. can you imagine it? let's say for our sake that this particular bishop is one of a mahogany finish (small little plug for you there), and is varnish to a shine. at it's tip is a small diagonal groove, as is with every rook. it's purpose has been disputed over years- Golombeck believed it to bare the resemblance of an elephant's tusk, whereas in France it was assumed to be a jester's cap. of course, in romanian, they said "nebun". meaning jester, but also meaning crazy. the bulgarians have termed the piece as the "officer", which i for one do not believe to be very fitting to it's temperament. i side with the slavic view; hunter.

often, a player will greatly undervalue the power that the bishop holds, favouring the knight. naturally, this makes for a lot of sense upon first thought; the knight can access every square on the board whereas the bishop cannot. they are both worth three pawns. but, reader, do not be fooled! a bishop can hinder the knight's movements, the knight cannot do the same in return. 

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lets take a break for a moment from our gaming jargon and return to the land of the living. in my last post i discussed a woman i had once known, who in her writings showed evidence of genius. i have thought many times about the meaning of this word, and it's occasional occurrence within the blue-colour folk i've found that is nothing short of Good Will Hunting. 

i will make this clear now- i am not discussing academia. if i were, then a number of people i've met with could make the list. these incredibly bright people, though, are surely not brilliant. they may be good and kind and hard working and driven. they may be intellectual and focused and even profiting on their capabilities. they have never, however, whisked the wind into an airy submission, or passively played with personnel.

perhaps you have seen for yourself- a glimmer of sharp wit from a friend once overlooked during a fleeting conversation, a small mannerism perfectly implemented in your periphery. managed, perfected. to slip between selves and curate a pristine image, an incomprehensibly refined character, although it may be an ongoing labour of time, is easy after hours for the genius.

dear reader tell me if i am wrong- contest me, even. of course, this is only from my own findings, but the understated genius is not that of a rigorously timetabled student- nor the preaching pastor from up on high. instead, the genius lurks undetected and obsequious to the whims of the less fortunately gifted, marking territories with slight of hand and slick tongue. this may seem obvious to you. this may seem a futile explanation. because surely you would have caught it, and surely you would know. no? allow me one more digression.

i've discussed throughout this here writing the many terms of the chess pieces through several languages; the indonesian "fortress", the chinese "elephant" and so on and so forth. one dialect i haven't yet approached though, is that of the Greek. knighthood, inspired by the "hippeis" or in english the "cavalry", held the same concept in ancient Greece as it does in modern english. the term "bishop", though, came from "biscop". or as we would understand it; "the overlooking", or "from above". 

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have you ever played a game of chess? have you felt your opponent quietly reach for a piece when you turned to check the clock? have you felt a cold gust fleetingly flung through your baited breath? have you forgotten your movements, lost your place, only to find the hunting bishop swapped slyly for your now ineffectual and apprehended horse? 

what does it mean to be a genius? and, dear reader, have you ever seen one?

sincerely, the caravan girl.