Wax and feathers lift me away from Crete.
seemingly unrelated: an athiest that failed to offend me [approx. 2 hrs]
The anachronism of the tertiary institute calls upon an age of distinct social heirarchy and oligarchy. The currency of university is not ideas as it should be, but rather an elaborate system of favouritism. The organization, then, is a sycophantic utopia designed to hedge ideas into the narrow band of political agenda and muffle into the background independant thought.
Leaving it now, my experiances as they are, I can readily say that the above is true. There have been rare occassions, certainly, in which true expression of thought was advocated and furthermore rewarded as it should be, but nearly all of those exceptions have met with derision from their respective departments -- in some cases even released from future obligations on campus. It has been far removed from my personal expectations of the institute, far removed from my professional hopes and a far cry from what I would label a credible indication of individual merit. That I am to be judged later in life by my peers based on the acquisition of this institute's seal of approval offends me. How they wish to consider me for it is entirely their perrogative, but as the man who must bear the diploma, knowing full well what I have already and will have to do for it, I cannot feel anything but ineffable shame.
Shame for the lies I've had to tell.
Shame for the opinions I've had to quell.
Shame again for the silences I've kept and the ideas I've slaughtered.
Shame that, for so many years, I had such a complete disregard for any personal integrity that I replaced it with academic ambition
... all for some lousy piece of paper.
Forgive me.
The Promethean flame within rekindles, however. Past Thursday I am free to live or to die as I choose to. I will remember for myself the joy I once kept for learning, the joy I still know from those brief excursions out of the pen. I can at last do away with pretention and purposely be once more.
I intend to truly live, even if I must build my own wings to do so.
The anachronism of the tertiary institute calls upon an age of distinct social heirarchy and oligarchy. The currency of university is not ideas as it should be, but rather an elaborate system of favouritism. The organization, then, is a sycophantic utopia designed to hedge ideas into the narrow band of political agenda and muffle into the background independant thought.
Leaving it now, my experiances as they are, I can readily say that the above is true. There have been rare occassions, certainly, in which true expression of thought was advocated and furthermore rewarded as it should be, but nearly all of those exceptions have met with derision from their respective departments -- in some cases even released from future obligations on campus. It has been far removed from my personal expectations of the institute, far removed from my professional hopes and a far cry from what I would label a credible indication of individual merit. That I am to be judged later in life by my peers based on the acquisition of this institute's seal of approval offends me. How they wish to consider me for it is entirely their perrogative, but as the man who must bear the diploma, knowing full well what I have already and will have to do for it, I cannot feel anything but ineffable shame.
Shame for the lies I've had to tell.
Shame for the opinions I've had to quell.
Shame again for the silences I've kept and the ideas I've slaughtered.
Shame that, for so many years, I had such a complete disregard for any personal integrity that I replaced it with academic ambition
... all for some lousy piece of paper.
Forgive me.
The Promethean flame within rekindles, however. Past Thursday I am free to live or to die as I choose to. I will remember for myself the joy I once kept for learning, the joy I still know from those brief excursions out of the pen. I can at last do away with pretention and purposely be once more.
I intend to truly live, even if I must build my own wings to do so.