Irony is a bullshit facade, a pose designed to make you look sophisticated while you hide behind semantics.
Mean what you say.
RISK something. Put yourself out there. Actually have the Balls (or the Clit) to stand behind something, and actually fucking risk Having An Opinion. Buddha Forbid you should be VULNERABLE.
But don’t go so goddamn far as to qualify for Fundamentalism.
It’s a balance, motherfuckers. Life is not on either extreme.
Augustine noted long ago in recalling his days among the ‘Subverters,’ as an expression of resistance to cultural prescriptions, until it is left with nothing to resist except itself… This mute tombstone is the only kind of monument we dare build. (p 208)
Can irony yield any sense of evil? Is the ironist capable of making discriminations of value? Or is he condemned to live in a contingent world of morally indistinguishable actions and events, in which all ideas are denigrated as ideologies? …in the face of some new Stalin or Hitler, is it possible to shake off the lethargy induced by irony and rise to the fight? (pp. 210-211)