Notes on the disaffection of an Intellectual

We know nothing worth knowing

and were it worth knowing

we wouldn’t even know that

we didn’t know whether or not it was;

Knowledge is the sum of all

the emptinesses gathered in a vacuum,

we articulate acquired knowledge

in the way those blind from birth

might describe colours;

We grasp at phantasms

and draw shapes with our fingers

in the still air of a morning

on a battlefield occupied by silence;

Our role in history is as relevant

as that of dust mites in

the Palace of Versailles.

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