Leave all your masks at the door. You're stepping into a space where there's no front. No expectations, no fear. This is a place for those ready to break free. If you feel it, stay here. We start searching for the truth. It doesn't matter who you are by day.
There are no roles to play here, no rules to follow. Each week we gather to talk, listen, and ask the tough questions. This podcast isn't for everyone. It's for those ready to see the world as it is. If this resonates with you, if these words strike a chord, then you belong here. Since you're already here, why not stick around? Subscribe to our channel and join our community on social media. Follow us on all major platforms, hit us up on Instagram for that extra motivation, and on Tik Tok for your daily dose of inspiration.
Don't forget about our YouTube channel Mindset Maverick, where you'll find full episodes and exclusive content. All the links are down in the description. Why is this so important? Why do we keep finding ourselves hiding behind masks? What's so terrifying about just being ourselves? This question brought me here to this podcast, to the idea of a community where we can all break free from imposed rules.
A huge part of this journey for me was a book that inspired it all, The Origins of Genius and Fascism by Alexander Nazarov. It's not just a text, it's a sharp analysis of human nature, a book that forces us to look into the darkest corners of our minds and see how society demands sameness and how the system teaches us to fear our own truth, shaping us into obedient, convenient people. This podcast is my invitation to anyone who feels like they're living someone else's life to start freeing themselves, even if it's just here. Only when you accept yourself and drop all the masks can you truly feel real freedom. But this podcast is our chance to be free together, to speak openly and without fear.
When I talk about the night, that's not just talk. It's a philosophy. It's a way of life. It's our space to let go and seek the truth. Just like Burning Man, where once a year people challenge every rule and live as they've always dreamed. But this podcast is our night. Every week is our chance to meet ourselves and share that with others who are unafraid to walk that path. This podcast is all about living without masks, reminding us that it's okay to be ourselves even if it's just for one evening. One night. We're developing a new ritual. Let's get back to who we truly are every week, drawing inspiration from Nezrov's book and the Burning Man philosophy. Let's create this space together, step by step, one conversation at a time.
This book is a challenge to all the myths and illusions that we've come to accept as reality. It reveals the world and human nature in raw form, offering truth where myth and dogma usually hide. And now, as we've set the stage and discussed these crucial themes, let's dive into the book that sparked this journey. It's time to begin our reading of The Origins of Genius and Fascism by Alexander Nevzorov. This book has the power to shake our understanding of human nature and society. So let's open our minds and start this exploration together. Prepare to see the raw and unmasked truth.
Alexander Nevzorov, The Origins of Genius and Fascism. Preface. How did the transformation of an ordinary animal into a creature that managed to leave its feces on the moon happen? The entire history of mankind is the history of an unsuccessful attempt to overcome the fascism rooted in human nature. The story of this book begins with an old man in cell number one who ate half a roll of toilet paper. Nothing too unusual in that. Toilet paper from the outside is actually a favorite delicacy among inmates, especially in five-star prisons. Thoughtful family members soak it in booze, cocaine, or other narcotic junk.
Prison authorities are well aware of these little tricks. Of course, there are consumption limits. 10 meters is the maximum allowed. That's more than enough for the longest lasting happiness. But this prisoner in cell one didn't stop at half a roll. He just kept stuffing it into his mustache mouth. Only then did he finally catch the guard's attention. Now, with this much paper, even a respectable stomach might fail. Not that it would be a huge problem if he didn't make it. Death of an inmate is hardly a crisis. Quite the opposite, in fact. It had been ages since anyone had kicked the bucket here, and the prison almost missed the ritual. Washing the body, fitting the coffin, and the widow's black veil would all be a welcome change. A funeral is an event that teaches people to value life, instilling in them a certain sacred reverence.
So really, it's always worth letting someone die just to put on a decent funeral. But this particular inmate in cell one wasn't just some old man, he was the local Don. More than that, he was the Capo Bastone, the head of a very rich, well-connected and heavily armed family. And a Don shouldn't die from gorging on toilet paper. His esteemed colleagues wouldn't appreciate that. And there'd be no way to keep the autopsy results under wraps. The internet, TV, and press would all explode with the scandal. Competitors would laugh themselves sick over the deceased and his respectable family.
The scandal would lead to at least another 30 funerals, one of which would be for the warden of the prison where this fiasco took place. So, for this reason alone, it was decided to confiscate the roll, but compensate him with something else. There was just one problem. The old Don didn't like being disturbed in his cell, so they had to bring in the prison special forces. Gas, a raid, flashbangs, the roll was seized, but instead of a replacement roll, the Don received a children's book with pictures from the prison library. Something about the brain, fascism, and genius. It was a purely random choice. The book's only real crime was the softness of its pages. Unfortunately, its title remained forever unknown.
Being used to eating any paper he got, the old mobster devoured the title page, the preface, and the table of contents right away. After confirming that there was no familiar taste of sodium oxybuterate in the pages, he trashed his cell, broke the tableware, the TV, and all the Murano glass vases. The book, of course, was torn to shreds, but then something unbelievable happened. The old man became captivated by its tattered remains, completely absorbed to the point where he forgot about drugs, about family business. He kept the scraps with him at all times and read them constantly.
In actuality, the prison pathologists have determined that reading was what ultimately killed him. Indeed, the majority of the mobster's brain hemispheres had practically evaporated. With reading, that's inevitable, unfortunately. In the casket, the Don's face bore an expression of profound amazement. His eyebrows raised, eyes bulging, and mouth open. Every makeup artist on the continent tried to fix his face, but no one succeeded. In his folded hands, the deceased clutched scraps of that children's book, and with them, he was buried.
When I was asked to create a series of lectures on the origins of genius, fascism, and the mysteries of the brain, I knew nothing about this story. I was only told that the lectures would be delivered to a temperamental family of about 100 people. Grandfather Samadov had left instructions for his relatives to acquaint themselves with the topic that had preoccupied him. Only after this would the bank accounts be released to the heirs. So, my course was not merely the fulfillment of a last will, but also a key to billions. And since grandfather had forbidden anyone to fall asleep during the lectures, all scientific terms, Latin phrases, quotes, and other sleep inducing material had to be excluded.
An agent quietly warned me that there were a few fiery guys in the family. When they get bored, he said, they'll often start shooting at the lecturer just to liven things up, and everything bores them. If they hear the word transcendent, they take it as an insult. It turned out I was their third attempt to educate the heirs of the unhinged mobster on the topic of the brain. The first was a professor from the University of Bologna. He earned a bullet for divergence and convergence. The second was a specialist from Amsterdam who went down over trans nasus phenoidal access. They had been fairly warned against using such terms. The family, of course, gave them grand funerals and handed out consolation prizes to the widows. But the whole lecture idea had earned a terrible reputation. In academic circles, there were no volunteers left to put their foreheads in the line of fire, and the will of the deceased madman had to be fulfilled quickly.
Money was going sour in the banks. This was the only reason for the astronomical fee I was offered, I couldn't resist. The agent recommended that I wear a bulletproof vest to the first lecture. Instead, I acquired two massive cap and ball Colt revolvers from 1851 from a little basement shop. Bullets of 0.36 caliber will shoot clean through a Bible. But by local law, such items aren't even considered weapons. Due to their antique design, they're classified as collectibles. Yes, there were about a hundred of them. Lots of cigars, scars, and slicked back hair. All the faces were gangster-like, especially the old ladies.
No doubt a flamethrower would have been more appropriate than those ancient cults. But it was time to start. Ladies and gentlemen, I began. I understand that in order for us to discuss the evolutionary history of the brain today, you've had to put aside contract killings, smuggling operations, and other important business. I had heard much about their family and was delighted to learn how much we shared in terms of habits and outlook. At this point, my ancient revolvers came out of my bag and settled suggestively on the lecturn, barrels facing the audience. I didn't cock them, but even so, a pause followed.
Behind those hairstyles, something magical was happening. Mustaches twitched and smoked. It took about 20 seconds before the swarthy family burst into whistles, laughter, and applause. The entire audience jumped up, flashing teeth and diamonds, and rushed to take selfies with me and my revolvers. This ritual of laying out the Colts became an important tradition and an indispensable part of each lecture. I never actually had to shoot, not even at the old ladies.
By then I had spent many years studying the brain without either scientific ambition or respect for science. My craft, you see, is built on genuine cynicism, which is impossible without precise and thorough knowledge of the human brain. I studied the brain not as a scientist, but as a saboteur. Someone who learns every door, every habit of the guards, the alarms, and the peculiarities of the target he plans to attack. It's a practical approach, one that rejects dwelling on hypotheses with no explanatory power. However, if you stick to this approach, you can't help but uncover all the secrets.
Complete knowledge of the brain is available to anyone, but purely theoretical study is insufficient, unfortunately. You have to cut open skulls, dissect hemispheres, and experiment on lab rats. You'll spend about five years dazzling in morgues with a scalpel and rinsing down your morning for maldehyde with the brain stem of a mummy. But a scalpel doesn't cancel out the green despair of Latin, nor the heaps of literature on the subject. After a few years of this, you get familiar with the morgues, your morning cup of formaldehyde, and the rituals of dissecting skulls and prying into hemispheres. It's the only way. The scalpel doesn't free you from the green gloom of Latin or the mountains of theoretical drivel. But understanding the brain and its mechanisms isn't some lofty quest. It's practical, almost dull. In fact, the functioning and origin of the brain is a pretty straightforward matter, and this applies to concepts like reason, thought, and even genius itself.
Unfortunately, science stumbles over its own feet here. It can't explain much, which isn't a surprise since reason and thinking don't belong to science in the first place, nor do they need to, especially in a time when scientists are left in such a pitiful state. Sure, data is essential, but science can be plundered without consequence because there's no one to complain to. Who are these scientists anyway? They're earnest, hard-working folks who devote their lives to contributing tiny pieces to the endless pile of scientific knowledge. Scientists voluntarily take on a rough path, embracing deprivation and poverty. They sacrifice themselves. Well, let them keep sacrificing. Let them toil away. But there's no need for us to share that burden. Let them hunch over archives, fry in nuclear reactors, drop into volcanic craters, and freeze in Arctic ice. We all know where they stash the findings from their hard work. Anyone can break into that vault and take whatever they need.
Knowledge, like money, doesn't smell. Diamonds are a perfect comparison. There are plenty of people involved in diamonds. Geologists, surveyors, drillers, blasters, cutters, and jewelers. They all play a part in this long, dramatic diamond story, and each person finds their role within it. But the best part, it goes to the one who ends up wearing the diamonds. It's the same with knowledge. One simple truth should be understood. Scientists aren't masters of thought or interpreters of the world. They're just miners. Their opinions mean nothing. Yes, in their scientific minds, they dig up incredibly valuable raw materials that are absolutely essential. But their craft is to dig it up and bring it to the surface, and that's it. Their role ends here, just as science's role ends. Sure, every chunk of ore they unearth, they'll send off with a trail of envious tears, always pushing their advice about how their discoveries should be used. But once we take from their findings, it's best to forget them and ignore their advice too.
What happens next with their discoveries, those facts, the refining of scientific ore into ideas and summaries, is none of the miners' business, especially when it comes to something as amusing as the brain and its mechanisms. Everything there is to muddy and mess up, scientists already have. It's no surprise. The craftsmen who manufacture knowledge have tried to tackle something out of their league. They've produced hundreds of ridiculous theories and unleashed fireworks of absurd ideas. Of course, if the circus loses its main act, the clowns and jugglers have to work 10 times harder to distract the audience from the missing centerpiece. And that's where we are. The elephant was promised on the marquee and advertised everywhere, but the elephant died. So now, poor scientists have to juggle terms and hollow hypotheses with tripled vigor.
Long ago, science swore it would understand and explain the origins of intelligence. Now, poor thing, it's left frantically distracting everyone from the fact that understanding has eluded it. The elephant died ages ago. Its final breath wheezed out through the hairy nostrils of the esteemed Ivan Petrovich. Pavlov back in 1936. Since then, sure, some useful bits and pieces have been added, like the work of Penfield and a few other minor contributions. In theory, everything we need to make a final conclusion about thought and genius is already there.
The family sat silently, waiting expectantly. They'd prepared well for this lecture on the mysteries of the brain. Cigar boxes open, crystal decanters filled with cognac beneath the chandelier. My opening remarks were academic, but brief. Let's begin. Certainly, you're all aware that a well-aimed shot to the head solves most problems. This is only possible because the brain is located there. No sooner had I said this than the audience perked up, reaching for their golden Glocks and Berettas. Let's not deny the obvious, the head makes a very appealing target, and the forehead seems perfectly designed for a bullet. Oh, this sparked a genuine ovation that I managed to quiet only after a few minutes.
So, what is a forehead, really? A patch of wrinkles and a thin bone, and right behind that bone are the folds of the frontal lobes. To place the control center right at the most visible spot? What a mistake. But evolution probably didn't anticipate just how criminal the project of Homo sapiens would turn out to be. Here, I gave a respectful bow, and the gentlemen in the audience straightened their bow ties and toasted. The ladies and old women blew me air kisses in return. Of course, I went on, and yes, the brain itself should have been built entirely differently. But evolution, as always, chose a different path.
From the looks of the pursed lips around me, no one here expected much from a girl with a ridiculous name like evolution. I continued. Evolution likes to slap together something crude and then spend hundreds of millions of years endlessly complicating its properties to the point of madness. Unfortunately, the original roughness never disappears. It only evolves and grows stronger. There's simply nothing else to evolve. The brain was no exception. It drags along its whole sorted history, and that has become its greatest limitation. Because of this, humans are creatures with very limited capabilities. At this, the family puffed their cigars so vigorously that they reminded me of Vesuvius in its prime. I continued. Humanity isn't to blame. The evolution of our brain is both laughable and tragic. Against this bleak backdrop, a few hundred homo sapiens appear slightly better off. These are the ones we call geniuses. Genius is always a shocking phenomenon, and to those without it, it's as irritating as watching a paralyzed person try to dance. As soon as they heard the first understandable word, the ladies jumped up. Their glutes instantly at the ready. They thought the lecture series was over and that the dancing had begun. I asked them to take their seats and continued. Yes, everything has its place. Dancing is best done with the hemispheres below the waist. But if you're not particularly blessed in that area, you can always try the hemispheres in your brain. That, after all, is what Descartes, Feynman, Mendeleev, and the rest were up to.
Now, let me explain how they managed it. And while I'm at it, I'll explain what fascism is, where it came from, and how it's connected to genius. But before diving into the details, I must warn you that my lectures might cause you some pain. The audience responded with ominous smiles. Strictly speaking, the genius of Einstein, Borne, or Lemaitre is a slap in the face to the rest of humanity. Because by recognizing that some people have extraordinary intellectual abilities, we automatically relegate everyone else to second class status. Yes, the very existence of geniuses divides humanity into two unequal parts. There's an elite cast made up of geniuses, and then there's everyone else, whose intellectual capabilities seem almost negligible by comparison. The universe has at the very least committed an offense in this regard. Since compared to Planck or Vesalius, each of us hardly ranks above a dullard. But let's not get dramatic. Most people learned long ago to ignore this uncomfortable nuance, and their own mediocrity doesn't bother them. All these Einsteins and Copernicuses have been conveniently tucked away in a different dimension, far from sight. Yet the intrigue remains. It hasn't disappeared. Are we all actually mentally deficient? I pose the question. Such a dirty trick from the universe was the last thing the family expected, and they anxiously poured themselves another drink. Now, you can see what must have disturbed your esteemed late grandfather. The Don wasn't ready to label himself second rate.
So, is there really a superior cast of humans or is it all an illusion? That's the question we'll examine. As you can see, studying the human brain is not as pointless as it might seem at first glance. The audience vanished again. From behind the tobacco fog, a five-year-old mobster in training suddenly appeared. She sat down beside me, handed me a cigar, and struck a match. I got the hint, wrapped up my introduction, and got down to business. Yes, everything went quite academically. I allowed smoking, drinking, snorting, and internet use during lectures. The only rule was no using chairs as weapons. Anyone who wanted to took notes.
My course was far from a waste of time for the family. They got the message. A couple of weeks later, a rather original murder took place in town. The victim was a high school principal who'd made improper remarks about Charles Darwin. A volley of 20 powerful revolvers sliced his body in half. His legs fled, mixed into the crowd, and couldn't be caught. But the upper half stayed right where it was, summoning a priest, an undertaker, and the parents of every student involved. The undertaker received a request to halve the coffin length, and the priest was asked to cut the memorial service in half. Then the top half of the principal shook its finger at the parents before giving up the ghost. From the bodies of unlucky bystanders, 36 caliber Colt revolver bullets were retrieved. Clearly, my knowledge had left an impression on the family, as had my Colts. Yes, the revolvers.
Quickly sweeping the continent, the family found identical ones. As for me, I turned those lectures into the book that Maverick is now reading to you. And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. The story will be following all the way to today. An unlikely journey of how a simple book unravelled the reign of a powerful man. This is merely a preface. A prologue to Alexander Nevzorov's, The Origins of Genius and Fascism. Nevzorov exposes our illusions, debunking our fantasies of human greatness and meaning. Deep down, we are still animals, and the reality of our nature is a lot less noble than we would like it to be. So, be honest. Was that as heavy to listen to as it was to read? Or are we keeping you hooked? If you have any thoughts on how we can make the journey a little lighter, or maybe just more entertaining, drop a comment. We're listening and ready for suggestions. You can find us on all major podcast platforms. Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google Podcasts, and more. And don't forget to follow us on social media. Check out our YouTube channel Mindset Maverick for full episodes and exclusive content. We're on Instagram for that extra motivation and TikTok for daily inspiration. All links are in the episode description. Together, let's keep stripping away the illusions, one layer at a time. Until next time and remember, in night we trust.