…you realize that Social Justice snowflakes can’t even criticize fellow social-justice snowflakes without sounding like someone doing a hamfisted satire of social-justice snowflakes.
It’s getting to the point where satirizing overly-fruity academic writing is passé and redundant. .
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“I’ve started to fear my own comrades” is a common refrain among those whose good sense is overcome enough to join totalitarian movements. Just ask Trotsky, the brown shirts, etc..
“…one reflects on the normative paradigmatic shift of our hermeneutical age.”
I hate it when that happens,
It’s amazing what happens when you abandon the ideals of personal freedom and responsibility. This idiot has decided that his character is of little to no consequence when compared to such things as the color of his skin or where he sticks his sexual organ or organs(who can tell with more flavors of gender than Baskin-Robbins has of ice cream?). As such, he is deprecating his intelligence and free will and turning himself/itself/xself/zerself into a mindless square peg trying to fit in field of constantly shape-shifting holes, rather than a free actor choosing a path for himself/xself/zerself.
Kipling, “The Gods of the Copybook Headings”
AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.
We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “Stick to the Devil you know.”
On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “The Wages of Sin is Death.”
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “If you don’t work you die.”
Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool’s bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!
Fragmentation by identity wouldn’t matter if they didn’t insist on a hierarchy like Mean Girls in high school.
We’re better than you because of X, therefore you can’t join our group. Why are you still talking? How dare you offend us with your thoughts, you filthy little worm! You’re just a Y, you are disqualified from having an opinion. Go sit with the rest of the losers.
Spend more on a degree, start to use words like cisheteropatriarchy, but the attitude comes through loud and clear. I stopped bothering about Mean Girls long ago but they can’t stop bothering about me, because what would they have left?
Compare his new language filled with made up words with:
a not-so-distant second is the current flood of sanctimonious denial and condemnation that now crashes upon these shores of rectitude in gloppy tides of bullshit righteousness.
and of course,
My mind is a raging torrent, flooded with rivulets of thought cascading into a waterfall of creative alternatives.
It seems they are not teaching English to The Studies majors.
more moderation… dude, you gotta do something about it.
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