"All of my genius is in my nostrils." Nietzsche, Notebooks, Summer 1886-Fall, 1887
Your peculiar proboscis perturbs
Prehensile, fit for a Pinocchio
The way it probes your pipe disturbs;
This is parodic self-portraiture, no?
Are painters and philosophers liars?
They both create their representations;
Of their works, there will always be buyers--
Beguiled by their prestidigitations
What does smoking your own, huge nose reveal?
Snotty visions, or odoriferous dreams?
Metaphysics’ bouquet doesn’t smell real;
Epistemology’s moldy, it seems
Your candle flickers as your nostrils flare
To ask what your nose knows, what fool would dare?
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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