Génopsenseur: Genius / Censor / Psychopath is a radical hybrid text and uncompromising experimental work that treats thinking not as a stable activity but as a complex and volatile event: something that happens, collapses, reforms, and often destroys itself in the process. Written as a sustained monologue punctuated by pauses, reversals, stage directions, theoretical digressions, lyric eruptions, and analytic demonstrations, the book places the reader inside a mind attempting, again and again, to locate itself in a world that no longer holds still.

The text opens not with exposition but with disorientation: a speaker who does not know where he is, who must identify objects to reassure himself of reality, who wonders whether “world-feeling” itself has been lost. Rooms appear and dissolve. Places recur as memory-traces rather than coordinates. Environments are not containers but extensions of psychic life—“noplace environments” carried with the subject rather than inhabited. Throughout, the book stages consciousness as something always mid-formation, never finished, never secure.

"Génopsenseur" stages thought itself as a scene of instability. Written as a sustained monologue punctuated by interruptions, restarts, and stage directions, the book explores subjectivity as a precarious achievement: one that must be continually reconstructed in the face of internal censorship and psychic violence.

At the core of the work is its tripartite figure: genius / censor / psychopath. Not three distinct characters, but rather three inseparable functions of the same mind generate the work. Creativity produces insight, but censorship represses it; psychopathology emerges from the manifold contradictions between the two. Repression is treated not metaphorically but logically, exposing the paradox of a censor that must simultaneously (and impossibly) know and not know what it forbids.

Reading "Génopsenseur" feels at times like inhabiting consciousness mid-formation. The voice veers between lyric intensity and analytic rigor, between philosophical argument and disoriented perception. Moments of lucidity give way to drift; clarity produces its own collapse. The book’s preoccupations are “home,” displacement, "world-feeling," and being seen by others.

Formally spare yet conceptually dense, "Génopsenseur" is more of a glimpse into a mental climate than a story or play. It is comical, intellectually ferocious, and emotionally open/exposed. It is a work for readers drawn to philosophy that risks breaking down in order to tell the truth."

What follows from this formulation is not a theory offered from above, but a theory enacted. The book’s most sustained analytic section takes up the foundational psychoanalytic concept of repression and subjects it to relentless logical pressure. Freud’s metaphor of censorship is shown to harbor a contradiction: any censor must both know and not know the material it forbids, a paradox that generates infinite regress when modeled as an inner agent. Rather than resolving this through new structures or hypostatized psychic entities, Génopsenseur proposes a radically different orientation—an evental understanding of mind in which subjectivity, agency, repression, and creativity are not things but momentary achievements produced by converging series of events.

This evental ontology is not presented as abstraction alone. It is lived in the prose. Genius appears as moments of extraordinary associative capacity, where categories dissolve and meanings collide. The censor emerges as sudden cuts, redactions, shifts in tone, analytic intrusions, and self-sabotaging clarifications. Psychopathology surfaces not as spectacle but as necessity: the price of knowing too much, too fast, too fluidly, without the stabilizing comforts of shared structures. Each function arises, does its work, and vanishes, only to be recreated moments later under slightly altered conditions.

Stylistically, the book moves with remarkable range. Lyric passages describing rooms, weather, memory, and drift give way to dense philosophical argument; footnotes coexist with jokes, insults, and sudden tenderness. The voice may sound omniscient one moment, then lost, embarrassed, or furious the next. References to Wallace Stevens, Sartre, Camus, Freud, Whitehead, Lacan, and others are not remembered reverently but tested, dismantled, and reassembled in real time. Thought here is not cumulative but recursive, circling back through its own failures with increasing urgency.

Despite its rigor, Génopsenseur is often darkly funny. The intelligence on display is sharp enough to turn against itself, exposing vanity, shame, and the absurdity of intellectual posturing. Yet the book is also deeply intimate. Beneath the theoretical scaffolding lies a persistent concern with attachment, recognition, exile, and the terror of not being held in mind by others. The question of “home”—psychic, linguistic, relational—haunts every page.

Génopsenseur is not a book that explains itself cleanly, nor does it aspire to consensus. It is a work that insists on difficulty as an ethical stance, refusing simplification where simplification would falsify experience. Readers drawn to experimental philosophy, psychoanalysis, avant-garde literature, and works that blur the boundary between thinking and breakdown will find here not an argument to accept, but a climate to enter—one in which consciousness is shown doing what it always does: forming, censoring, fracturing, and trying, against all odds, to speak. (82 pp.)

Table of Contents

1. An autumn room 6
2. He seeks and seeks semblables, through, say, the exosphere 22
3. ‘I am the first psychologist’ 28
4. A riddle 35
5. A maroon 54
6. Roots 62 Bibliography 80