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Dear Diary,
Earlier this morning I posted my first comment to this site. Deciphering the lacuna of language, it was a broadly existential dig at the way our fate as individuals is increasingly becoming defined according to a cynical subsumption of survival in conformity. Conformivalism†, I call it. I say cynical because survival is often marketed as the noble evasion of self-interest while, ying for yang, our sacrifices accrete in the selfless leader's pocketbook. If I told you there was historical precedent for what happens when an entire culture becomes usurped by one of its parts, would you hold my un-Teutonic sympathies against me? |
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[editor's note, by RobotSlave]And so we arrive at the real point of the diary: Whining about comment deletion, with the customary flinging of porridge from the high-chair.
And so we come to the mysterious disappearance of my lonely comment, and the sum of all my fear and loathing. I fear the perversely deranged dictatorship of policemen at this opera bouffe might be capitalizing upon the bourgeois geek's conformist tendencies. I fear for the worst when I ask, "Has Rusty Foster become an editor at this site?" I thank you in advance.
† This should be a word.
If anyone is interested, I have a collection of similiar
constructions,
malapropisms and mixed
metaphors which stretch the panties of the english language. |