Yeah, I'm a dull guy now

I'm 'mock-agreeing' with the judgments of the majority around me. Most of us cling to false ideals forever. And letting go of the false ideal or spurning the destructive virtue in public wins you no accolade. Indeed, in some parts of the world, they shoot cowards, don't they? Why? Is bravery somehow appeased by the ritualized death of a coward? Seems to me that the first coward resolutely fleeing battle is the true moralist; he leadeth his people by the right path--perhaps not the righteous path, but his followers stand a better chance of doing the fine study thereafter. Similar examination of other cherished notions lead to the same ironies. And the same general form--bind yourself now, and live within those chains, and never grow wise enough to see the profound folly of commitment, the idiocy of unswerving loyalties. This is an impossible consideration for many fierce young minds, whose ideals remain untested in experience, who have only an ethic--a moral 'to do' list--and no ethics. They Know Everything Now. People of reason, code, law and certainty, deniers of doubt; They don't deal well with the contingent, the fuzzy, the mysterious, the unique. I remember. I was a complete monster of logic, an ogre of rectitude. I was impossible. And that's the reason for the tone of this poem. I-then wouldn't have heard it, and I-now must settle for what is almost certainly a vain attempt to smuggle in the seeds of skepticism.

There IS a rationale behind these (what are essentially repostings). People don't dig very far into the slush pile, and when you want review of your work, you gotta keep it in place actively. I choose to do that directly. I feel much better about it, now. It seemed to me 'immodest' before.

see previous faux comment

Why write another faux comment, you ask? Because the poems I'm doin' that for today have not been visited a hundred times yet---and their 'visits' include a substantial number of 'visits' engendered by my returns to the pieces, and some spurious 'visits' that appear to be artifacts of bugs in the program. So, get used it: I keep recommenting until I feel that the poem has had enough exposure to lend value to the numbers.