Pensive Ponderings

Reflections on things that matter.

Postmodern Argument. A poem

Stop.

Stop trying to charm and confuse me.

Stop trying to use me to make yourself feel good about how much you think you know.

And About how wise I see that you are not.

Just.

Stop.

Because you’re speaking in logical fallacies and psychological arguments that aren’t necessarily true.

And to hear so much B.S. causes me such distress that you railroad your way through every second of every day telling lies and half truths and making convenient use of pseudo-facts and raw emotions. But I have the antidote to this potion.

Reason.

A faculty of my mind that allows me to divine exactly how utterly you are wasting my time with your half-behind non-rhyme scheme.

And there’s a theme to this chaos, this cacophony of catchy ideas that seems edgy and deep, but they are ledges with steep pitfalls, these reasonless arguments for relative reality, but in reality, their relatives are the ancient Greek Sophists, or should I say “scoffists” who find it too trying to think in straight lines because they were challenged by some of their findings.

And I’m finding that I can’t abide this futile argumentation that’s two parts hubris and one part despair with a pinch of cynicism for good measure. But it is my pleasure to unravel this argument and dig up the treasure, the kernel of truth at the center, the object of your censure.

Reality

Is

TERRIFYING.

This is why you dare defying reason. Because your reason shows you a world of terrors. A world that is unkind, unfair, unjust, unloving, and unable to be reconciled to any sort of notion of Good.

It seems like reality is having a civil war. If that’s the case, what should we be civil for? Let’s be lawless! Embrace the chaos. But if we fall prey to these ideas, it’s our loss. It’s easy to give up when life doesn’t live up to our preconceptions. And our predilections in the face of disappointment is to use our distress and offense as a type of ointment. We soothe our scarred souls with arguments full of holes and we deny everything under the sun, because if I can’t be God,then surely there isn’t one. Because if it can’t be known, it must not be real. And if I don’t understand it, it is subject to how I feel, since clearly reality adjusts to my whims, because if this isn’t true, then reality is grim.

Oh, O dear. It seems we have a fiction. A glaring and garishly gross contradiction.

So stop.

Just Stop.

Because I’ve argued this before and every time I end up face down on the floor, and I realize my arrogance eclipses the truth, like the moon before the sun, or my will before the Son, who himself said “not my will, but Thine be done.”

Because reality really is at war. An uncivil dispute with existence at the core. Pretenders presumed to depose the I AM. Existence Himself. No wonder this world’s a sham!  And it’s a Shame that so few remember the cause of reality’s ruckus, and choose to think that God is to blame, and not us.

So stop.

Stop the quasi-clever arguments and the naive notions that you fail to check with actual reason.

Stop the angry and confused assertions that have not stood the test of seasons.

Just

Stop.  

And think.

Question your skepticism, your modern post-modernism.

Stop.

And do not begin again

Until you have truly examined the matter at hand.

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