Progress without tradition
is horsebit success
with no succession.
The present without the past
is the horse unhitched from the cart:
a decaying harvest never brought to market.
Liberty without conservation
is license consuming only itself:
locusts feeding on locusts.
We are proud of our industriousness,
now having itself no industry,
technically, becoming the vaccuum
that follows after the ouroboros of pride
feeds on its own veinglory,
feeding only itself with only itself–
the dead and rotting modern horse that is post-modernity,
kicked and beaten, the age’s two ways of worshipping,
under the title of the age’s golden calf.