2025
Have we exhumed
the corpse of sincerity
From its
postmodern grave?
Have we dusted
off the ideologies
of the dead past
To play dress up
Like a Nazi at a
dinner party
Shooting the
salute
With a wry grin
And a shrug of
the shoulders?
Stochastic
anarchy is a term
That I did not
invent.
Metamodernism:
the oscillation between
Sincere belief
and ironic detachment.
One minute you
are a Fascist on the stage,
The next you are
a provocateur
Engaging in
cosplay
To critique the
illiberalism
of the liberal
establishment.
People have a
desire for truth
But it cannot
exist
In a world of
disinformation
Where computer
algorithms
Trained on
bullshit
Are increasingly
appealed to
And utilized
By children too
lazy to use their brain.
If we are past
the time of labels,
If we parade the
corpse around
moving its arms
and hands
In a ghoulish
dance,
Making a mockery
of humanity,
What future can
we embrace?
Call the truth
the truth
But we don’t
know what truth is anymore
Since we are
outsourcing thought
To the vanity of
billionaires
And Silicon
Valley firms
Disinterested in
any concept
That doesn’t
raise their valuation.
We have to
remember the past
Not to use as
fodder for memetic creation,
But as a
reference on how to learn
How to think
How to act.
There is agency
In admitting
You are an agent.