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Saturday, January 31, 2004

Litany on Death of Theory


Adieu, farewell mind’s bliss,
All truth uncertain is;
Fond are theory’s lustful joys,
Death proves them all but toys,
None from his darts can fly.
I am slick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

Rich men, trust not in wealth,
Gold cannot buy you health;
Zizek himself must fade,
All things to end are made.
Humanism swift is nigh;
I am slick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

Theory is but a flower
Which wrinkles will devour:
Brightness falls from Bataille,
Theses wither and die,
Dust hath closed Social Text;
Representations is next.
I am slick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

Haste, therefore, each degree,
To welcome destiny.
Heaven is our heritage,
Earth but a player’s stage;
Mount we unto the sky.
I am slick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
Posted at: 1/31/2004 04:50:00 PM