posted on May, 29 2014 @ 11:49 PM
Irony is Dead
Irony is dead, folks. Like everything once beautiful, after it has been shoved through the mouth of the
mediocrity mill to come out the ass-end as pop culture, it ends up useless and castrated, limping along as we continue to beat everything out of it
until it collapses. This mule has collapsed. Nothing is provocative anymore. Sarcasm is almost a language. Breast and penises and gory imagery of
countless bloody deaths whisk past our faces on our television screens and we don’t even blink an eye. Hell, most of it is even pretty good
programming, but is nonetheless a sign that culture will go to any length to keep us interested in it. Anything to maintain the charade.
The gadfly has nowhere to go, nothing to sting; and he always ends up becoming too dependent on that which he has always attacked, always remaining
but a parasite to a larger host. Charity, and that old institution of once Christian but now corporate alms-giving, is but an institution of the same
problem it seeks to end, and does nothing but give someone the false sense of making a difference as if the transaction of money was the key to
change. Billionaires are seen as philanthropists if they give a little back of the money they’ve already taken. Religious sectarianism only grows
stronger when it is always on the lips and tongues of the anti-religious. Racism, bigotry and xenophobia reaches new heights when it is always nailed
to the cross for all to see by the politically correct. Crowd enthusiasm and indignation only grows under the ever tightening grip of the corporatism
that seeks control over them. The fiends of natural resources race head-first into a species-ending wall. Humanists render us inhuman through their
constant plights of equality, generalizing that which can never be generalized. Scientists peddle physics and priests peddle the bible—all a great
political sermon and campaign for funds and public awareness. Philosophy is now the philosophy of philosophy, the rendering of itself useless. The
revolution is lost—the mob’s idea of a democratic discussion is an all out free-for-all in the public square, doing nothing to upset the status
quo save for defacing public property and urinating in public. Education makes us stupid. People seek warmth and humanity in the cold stare of
machines. The proletariat loves being the proletariat, always having the human resource and power to flip the switch at any time, but never ever doing
so, becoming their own aristocrats. The contrarian is now a complimentarian. Everything is business as usual.
W.W.S.D? What would Socrates do? Better yet—what would the mad Socrates, the greatest gadfly, the dog philosopher, Diogenes the Cynic...what
would he do?
Alexander the Great once said if he was not Alexander, he should like to be Diogenes the Cynic. Only such a philosopher as him, an impoverished former
slave, could make a king such Alexander the Great see true power, with pure honesty. Diogenes is a literal Oscar the Grouch, having lived his life in
a giant pot heckling those who passed. Once when Alexander stood over Diogenes as he lay suntanning in the Craneum, Alexander said, “Ask of me any
boon you like,” to which Diogenes politely replied, “Get out of my light.” Alexander loved it. And only a brilliant gadfly could make one of the
most powerful men in history get such a kick out of his own charade. He saw Alexander as he was—a man. Alexander knew that anyone who sees ideology
for what it is cannot fear it. All he could do was laugh at himself.
In this day and age, with a culture built on thousands of years of platonic philosophy of the Christian sort, the sort that has led us all into a kind
of social solipsism, idealism and ideology, where since we are the center of every experience we’ve ever had, we believe we are the center of the
entire universe, or angels, or eternally powerful beings, we need a Diogenes the Cynic to wipe his dirty feet all over Plato’s carpets, all over
Plato’s vainglory, as he had actually done more than a millennia ago. Only this sort of person can hold the frightening mirror to our faces, let us
see our ugliness in all its ironic beauty, and make us laugh and love him.
Where is Diogenes today? Where is our mad Socrates?
Look to your comedians. They are the last rock under which the cynic still renders his philosophy today, and the last bastion of irony. In fact, they
are the only accessible philosophers around anymore actually practicing philosophy, as most are out there somewhere swimming in jargon, or worse,
swimming in platitudes and old-wives tales, or simply perverting some already perverted religion into something worse and calling it philosophy.
Nothing ever changes because of it. It is all wisdom without wisdom. It is all irony under the guise of truth, crystallizing into vanity where it
dies, taking its last form in the corpse of utter hypocrisy.
Irony is ironic because it is an attempt to tell a truth without telling the truth. Consequently, it is how most people continue their lives, as they
live solipsistically in what they think, and rarely in what they actually are. They cannot see beyond their own irony. They think they are Alexander
the Great instead of just Alexander. They can only ever wish they were a Diogenes, or an angel, or a celebrity, or rich, but only because they do not
wish to be themselves. Even from within the armor of humor, they will not face the truth. Irony is honesty; and irony is dead.
Thank you for reading,