The Pragmatist Holds His Knife........

Creative Forums Creative Writing
1

[size=150]The Pragmatist Holds His Knife
To the Sacred Cow
And Petitions the Nietzschean Players[/size]

So tell us players:
How does it work?
Where will your fancy take us?
And how does it all go down?

What truths will you reveal?
What certainties
In a world that holds no truth?
How will you show us?
If not facts,
What songs will you sing to convince us?

Your women, granted, should be enough.
Young, pretty, clearly the benefactors of certain
Genetic advantages,
They tweak on empowerment, full thrust;
Their will is strong and they know where the action is.

Remember, they roar, Morality’s for losers!

But how would they know? Did they try it once and lose?

(And isn’t it true that there is no mental illness so malignant
As that of a beautiful woman’s,
That for those that want her, all actions, good or ill, must be validated?)

Still, to look at them, it’s easy to see the swollen pride
That might come from knowing their minds,
The validation experienced by being in such an in-crowd!
It’s easy to see the empowerment extracted from the common cause
Of not being slaves,
Of rising above mere mortals
And dwelling with the spirit of Nietzsche.

But if not a cult, then what?
A trend?

Yet, you persist.
Your serpentine line of reasoning
Snakes its way through the unexpected twists,
While your writhing tongues,
And what they convey,
Slither and wind to the radical conclusion.

But will cleverness be enough?

And how long before it all devolves into a fierce debate
Over the sanctity of the gene pool
And the impure practice of letting a mongoloid live?

So tell us, tellers of truths,
You tight-fisted disciples of Darwin,
Where will your fancies take us?
How does it work?
How does your system stand,
Your teleology build from a groundless state?
How do certainties emerge,
In some fixed way,
From a foundation of nothing?

But should the madman smile and hold his lantern,
And it comes to pass,
Will you still strut up and down
The post-apocalyptic catwalk of your dreams?
Will the need to survive
Survive the Dionysian dance?
Or visa-versa?
Will you then have become the ubermesch?
And just how many butterflies will unfold their wings,
Joyfully,
In the withering landscape:
The invisible hand’s last testament to your Will to Power?

But, more importantly, for what purpose,
And how,
Will you philosophize?
How will you even think,
Much less write,
With the whip of nature,
Your new and lifelong master,
Snapping at your back?

2

:-"

3

under construction:

X

4

Lizbeth,

if you’re there,

I’d really like to hear your opinion of the poem

5

:-"

6

PM her dude…

7

No need. I just noticed her on the page and wanted to mess with her. At least I think that’s what happened. I was a little drunk last night.

In all honesty, I’m still a little iffy on this poem myself. In some states of mind, it reads well. In others, it feels a little clumsy.

The main thing for me is that it is the first time in 10+ years I’ve had a poem come together like that. I didn’t think it would happen again.

Also, I just took a good look at your quote. It has a Zizek-like take to it. Is it your quote? I may use it to initiate a string.

8

You gotta love Liz…

But I don’t need to stalk her.

9

[size=150]The Pragmatist Holds His Knife
To the Sacred Cow
And Petitions the Nietzschean Players[/size]

So tell us players:
How does it work?
Where will your fancy take us?
And how does it all go down?

What truths will you reveal?
What certainties
In a world that holds no truth?
How will you show us?
If not facts,
What songs will you sing to convince us?

Your women, granted, should be enough.
Young, pretty, clearly the benefactors of certain
Genetic advantages,
They tweak on empowerment, full thrust;
Their will is strong and they know where the action is.

Remember, they roar, Morality’s for losers!

But how would they know? Did they try it once and lose?

(And isn’t it true that there is no mental illness so malignant
As that of a beautiful woman’s,
That for those that want her, all actions, good or ill, must be validated?)

Still, to look at them, it’s easy to see the swollen pride
That might come from knowing their minds,
The validation experienced by being in such an in-crowd!
It’s easy to see the empowerment extracted from the common cause
Of not being slaves,
Of rising above mere mortals
And dwelling with the spirit of Nietzsche.

But if not a cult, then what?
A trend?

Your serpentine line of reasoning
Snakes its way through the unexpected twists,
While your writhing tongues,
And what they convey,
Slither and wind to the radical conclusion.

Will cleverness be enough?

And how long before it all devolves into a fierce debate
Over the sanctity of the gene pool
And the impure practice of letting a mongoloid live?

So tell us, tellers of truths,
You tight-fisted disciples of Darwin,
Where will your fancies take us?
How does it work?
How does your system stand,
Your teleology build from a groundless state?
How do certainties emerge,
In some fixed way,
From a foundation of nothing?

But should the madman smile and hold his lantern,
And it comes to pass,
Will you still strut up and down
The post-apocalyptic catwalk of your dreams?
Will the need to survive
Survive the Dionysian dance?
Or visa-versa?
Will you then have become the ubermesch?
And just how many butterflies will unfold their wings,
Joyfully,
In the withering landscape:
The invisible hand’s last testament to your Will to Power?

But, more importantly, for what purpose,
And how,
Will you philosophize?
How will you even think,
Much less write,
With the whip of nature,
Your new and lifelong master,
Snapping at your back?

10

i give what i can give

while loving every 1.

11

:love