Reflections from a therapy room

Thoughts about writing about thinking


Decoupled


by Paul Wadey, 10.01.2024

Decoupled in a public sphere

Where truth—now a nomad—dwelt, 

Scales weigh unevenly,

Truth became untrustworthy, displaced by Dunning-Kruger’s map,

And or Bonhoeffer’s guide to idiocy.

That where fleeting glimpses of valid coherence twinkle, 

Darting, speedy, caught for a moment,

Thus we’re left to communicate, detached, unanchored, 

Neither cohesion nor congruence to light our way.

Adrift on shifting sands, once firm earth diminished,

We grasp in vain for lasting ties tarnished.

Desert gusts disperse pieces of meaning—

Handfuls as fluid as our transient being.

In abandoned ruins where civil and civility once stood,

Toppled icons lie, their clergy disavowed.

Yet lingering below rubble—

Dissolution—

Glimmers hope to reconstruct, not merely deconstruct.

Visigoths retrieving fragments, interlacing what was ravaged,

Cultivating sprouts in the soil that was damaged.

From this setting, this season, the garden cannot grow—

Where razing forces threatening its life oppose.

The eroding tide spares not esteemed insight—

Expertise’s testimony falls victim to the blight

Of chronology’s erosion that steals reverence

Leaving hollow cries in halls bereft of credible evidence.

In the agora, where dialectic once honed civic wisdom

Monologue’s din rules with production’s rhythm

As calculating forces leverage attention’s fray

To auction attention, and privilege no higher sway.

Where honour and code once guided learned hands,

Now liability’s shadows breed cautious stands.

As lawyers opine and insurer premiums rise,

Less ground remains for artistry’s empathetic eyes.

Once moving in orbits—congruent, though distinct—

Our paths are now elliptical, security evanescent

As gravity that bound us in weighty discourse succumbs

To entropy’s outward forces still accelerating.

Guiding tradition’s vagabond trolley-based sojourn

As even oaths and codes fall casually 

Moribund.

I don’t know for how long I can maintain laughter at the absurdity—

Of I not we, or us and them.



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