Baudelaire resides in the back of my mind

What passes for greatness these days is barely more than right above the threshold of mediocrity, either noticeable for: commanding loudness, a translucent reverb of shock-and-awe, a binding pledge to some version of ‘delusions of grandeur,’ a stand-out visual attribute acculturated Love American Style, as in large breasts, perfect cheekbones, a chiseled belly, ‘classic good looks,’ and, if all else fails, brazen stupidity/foolhardy reckless abandon/lack of concern for consequences