The anglophone world cannot help but banalise. It’s our deepest instinct.
With our dull prose. In our flat prose. In our passionlessness. In the boredom of our sentences.
Thought-tamers, like lion tamers. At work on the great banalisation of anything interesting.
Domesticators. Flatteners of thought-peaks. Philosophical reducers.
Dunce-disciples. Slow learners. Extinguishers of the heavenly fire.
Not a thought in our heads. Not an idea in our heads. Nothing, really, in our heads. Entirely vacant, in our heads. With nothing going on.
Work in Progress 