writing about my life

The Autodidact (poem)

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Deaden the pupil’s mind with repetition
till she succumbs to the correct delusion 

that human knowledge splits so neatly 
into art, science, history, geography

Instead of being an explorer in the mists
and connecting facts into their synthesis

so we end up believing in that division
ignoring the real while lost in revision

their knowledge creates categories 
but categories are all arbitraries

We do overvalue knowledge it is too true
so naked reality will always surprise you

Those who study physics cannot know any art
those for history not biology for a start

The boundaries between subjects are policed
we listen to the experts and end up fleeced

Many are lulled into such bits
when us schizos know just this

that all life is a mucky mix of where you travelled 
a ball of knotted string that can’t be unravelled

merely examined and kept 

like a grubby treasure in a pocket of a coat
occasionally to be removed and worried about

brains with no hearts seem to rule the world 
so I wonder why a black flag has not unfurled

and my brothers, sisters and I together fight
the notion that your capital makes you right


Written by Luke Dunn

July 30, 2018 at 8:20 am

Posted in Poems

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