Location: Shire of Trisel, Trimaris

I am in my late forties, a proud husband, father, and a bard. I am a book pedlar by trade and a bookman by vocation. I am a romantic, a realist, and a Believer. I like a good joke, and a bad one even better. I admire all ladies for the innate beauty that is in each one, but my heart is sworn to the fair and gentle Lady Lorelei, who has consented to share my life and my name.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012


Socrates' godchild has become,
In the absense of any possibility
Of real and transcendant absolute truth,
A place, not of inquiry,
But of exclusion;
A shutting out of all considerations
That inconveniently call into question
The prevailing orthodoxies;
Engaged not in the pursuit of knowledge,
But the aquirement of credentials;
An ivy-covered Tower of Babel,
Assuming that mere verbage equals to wisdom,
And the more incomprehensible the better,
(Clarity is the sin that reveals
The insecurities within),
Reducing itself more and more
With irrelevancies that have no connection
With anything real and concrete;
Spinning elegant fallacies,
Like hot house roses
That cannot thrive outside,
And are never condemned
For their real world failures,
But praised for their good intentions;
Never mind the damage that is done
To those who have to live with the results.
Academe' cares not for what has been,
And cannot remember what is not current,
And therefore does not learn;
For it chooses not to acknowledge
What it does not care to see;
What does not fit the narrative,
Or might require the acceptance of blame.
Better to accuse the unwashed other;
The benighted uncredentialed,
Who speak without ambiguity,
And live in the world of consequences.
Academe' drinks the hemlock gladly,
Not with tragic understanding,
But with self-assurance, and self-esteem,
Celebrating its deline
With high-minded satisfaction,
And all its illusions intact.


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