|King's College, UK, launched their 'Meet the professors' frieze, pictured above, to promote female professors.|
There are contemporary reasons why one might defer or eventually abandon a full engagement with the intellectual possibilities of the University. It was promising when a number of professors suggest I pursue the full course of academic life; and although it echoes an excuse of composed principles after failure, in this case my refusal was not. I was made cautious at an intuitive level over time. A store of reserve had built up after a few harms, for which at length from primordial impulse, I had attempted to take responsibility. Introspective transparency unfolded into a set of clearly unspeakable observations. Occasionally at the university, there would be allusions to these kinds of experiences, veiled in the bloated ethos of liberal discourses, or within the grantwriterly nuances of communist terminology. All of which no one dare speak; yet each dread of which, all claimed in hush to know. Outside of the ruined gates of tradition, after maces and commencements when degrees had dried and transcripts wrinkled, I thought to account, profane or sacred, for what exactly had defiled my spirit of inquiry.
At the behest of such profitable liberality, in the midst of three generations, my demographic witness of the university was of so many; huffy Jewish women, beastly homosexualists, mixed race oddities, mass Asian principalities and coddled refugees from every corner of the third world. Although I loved the possibility of contributing to knowledge, I could not avoid the palpable observation that these schools had gotten lost. A head of forgotten lettuce, now gone to mulch, in a fridge of mush brained gravy train dogma. As numerous insults and demoralization effects accrued; so being reduced to a paranoid victim of misdirection schemes more akin to game theory and psy-ops, in desperation, I sought ecumenical egalitarianism at its source.
|Progress = Making Females the Intellectual Leaders|
This solution was vilified as a callow religiosity, an institutional form of stupidity incompatible with true moral teachings nor healthy social ego, and as it ever further conceded its witness of history, indeed it has become observably mad. Always, the churches on and near the campus were empty, the nuns disappeared and priests isolated; or once ventured, lost in cannon law. Architecturally, it is received as offensive that they existed; but soon also a brisk shut down of the campus shooting ranges, their reality hushed leave alone purpose or history. Idiosyncratically, there were women in all the men's colleges, sobbing a few days over a foreign policy essay, after the sophomore abortion. Atheist SJW's foisting their agency all through the coed colleges, where inebriation had become a craft. Professors walked the campus in tennis shoes and t-shirts, swilling beer in local dives for cachet. Angry feminist TA's talked ad nauseum about the writing as if their sole calling were always grant-writing. Later it could be observed that, in effect, this is all they do, as if in a covert networked steno-pool, emailing back and forth many edits and tips while the printers hum. When the junior men make grammatical errors in their papers, the network smugly names them "little Johnny" and collectively narrativize them in secret matrician righteousness.
Not many talk about ideas, lest it be camouflage for unladylike grammar — it's all about whose idea, in a mass vanity for arid career security, or patent cashouts. Apropos of WASP history, beyond institutional prestige, the leadership class don't give a shit. They regularly gathering round probity's ruin over critter wine and world travel accolades, moaning about chocolate addictions. While the abstruse language of arid fame informs the bibliographies of lacy grades, and the silken commerce of tax-payer grants. This vicious cycle of referentiality overwhelms nations, like a pulsing vacuum, itself within the sole thunderous egalitarian vacuum of UN and NATO reprisals. Pleasuring itself in uterine desire, strip bouncer career administrators and thug policy hypothecators flipping the bird in their prosperous parlour. Immigration lawyers, humanitarian council chairpersons and all the problem professions forcefully gather, sitting on their arses in the harmonic valences of correctness. Bordello free ones, while the angry Madame clicks her painted nails on the night desk, the ill-reason of postmodernism re-recycles unmeasured; and next day, the fatuous sanction of anti-fa pour peer-review havoc on town policemen ordered from on high to stand down.
|University of Essex Feminist Society: We Sluts are against Islamophobia: back off White males!|
Over the horizon of skulls through the crowds of the college, the toques, the tattoos and silver puncture jewellery rescript laissez-faire usury, sodomy and heroin. Parades were planned, free syringes and fine print deeds provided in a wave of ethos, shallow and pervasive enough to make a converted camel lose direction. Amidst the mini-malls and ethnic food courts, both hard and soft transvestitism prevail; men with surgically installed breasts and acrimonious women constantly in men's clothes, with bullhorns, all cleft for the rainbow gold. Cloddish device fetishists and velcro back-packers each and every day: the trepidacious psychic and moral trauma of merely walking down a hallway. In respite, while in the open air, a billboard enforcing in fine lines, where not, on their bodies, to look at college women. A few will never; but a many may come to sense an anodyne purgatory of overpriced and overextended dimwits around the lecturn, living by two moralities. One truth abandoned, like an unrevised history, while the other, an ethos of compound affect, endemic to its Globo-Trotskyist transgenerational criminal syndicate. The unbeautiful perversity emanating from a narrow hypocrisy that mobilizes its particularist notions of property, unhinged from honest reward. Each ambivalent node, preferring at any cost to anyone to avoid physical labour, to manipulate value and prefer sterility. Manifold intrigues being all necessary; suppressing, diluting and policing thought is as good as discovering answers in the Modern Cuckversity.