The Age of Theory

Here in the Age of Theory, in the glorious house of the New Fade, where nothing is good enough and nothing lasts (or so we desperately wish to believe) nothing is true unless we think it is and it requires no more vigor to believe in than to believe in it, all while we mock anything that was thought before Here in the Age of Theory, in the glorious burning facade of the New Fade, where fads cycle fast and appear permanent until they aren’t, we’re furious with everyone and everything except ourselves,  untouched by malice, pure & true & good, unlike everyone and everything else Here in the Age of Theory, in the fastidious New Fade, where we borrow ideas from other ages without knowing how they apply now, let alone how they did in ages past, we have lost our enlightenment, hold deep convictions, burn at wits end, burn the heretics in effigy, the great price of progress marked by indemnity, like some rough beast, scorned and yet still slouching, but mostly in comfortable chairs  a