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 
and shouting unheard but read voraciously

Here in the Age of Theory,
we blame it on frustration 
and tear down a nation
fifty years running
or perhaps one-fifty 
but are absolutely convinced 
it’s that guy’s fault,
that farce disrupting everything
in ducktails,
his cowlick a mockery
of arrogant pretention.

We don’t even know,
here in the Age of Theory,
what the scientific method is anymore;
being wrong is a virtue so esteemed
it has to be right

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